Tight Rope
by TheFreakZone
Summary: Rich, spoiled kid Lovino Vargas hates pirates. Pirate captain Antonio Carriedo hates rich, spoiled kids. None of them ever thought they could feel something different from hatred towards one another. However, Fate seems to have different plans for them, and twists their lives in unexpected ways. (WARNINGS INSIDE.)
1. Chapter I

_AN/ So I really shouldn't be posting this, because: a) I haven't finished writing it (i.e. I've only written this first chapter), and b) I've like six other projects in mind :'D What I don't have is self-control._ _Anyway, if you like the story, feel free to pester me via PM so that I dedicate enough time to writing it. (Also, I may change the title at some point. Man, I suck at titling u_u)_

 _ **WARNINGS** : graphic violence, child abuse, over 10 years age gap. More warnings may be added in the future._

 _Disclaimer: sadly, I don't own_ Hetalia.

* * *

 **TIGHT ROPE**

 **Chapter I**

Lovino Vargas had never stopped to think about his death. He had never wondered when, how, where. Life had always been too nice for him to bother with such foul thoughts. His family was rich, he was well-provided — simply put, he had never had the need to worry. On the rare occasions in which the threat of death crossed his mind, he just assumed he'd pass away of old age, like his Nonno, lying in bed, surrounded by his loved ones, after a long life full of wonders and pleasures.

So when he found himself hiding in the captain's cabin, curled up in a corner and covering his ears to try and mute the chaos on deck; when he realized he may not live to see another day, he panicked.

He was only seventeen years old.

He was too young to die.

There were many things he hadn't done.

He had never kissed a girl. He had never been to Rome, or anywhere in Italy (Europe) that wasn't Naples. He hadn't played with and spoiled his little brother as much as he'd have wanted.

He didn't want to die.

The noise outside quietened a little, and a tiny ray of hope shone down on him. Maybe — just maybe — the battle had been won. But then the door was kicked open and two pirates walked in.

They didn't notice him at first, all their attention focused on the valuable objects they planned to pillage. One took only what could be sold (chandeliers, cutlery, even books) and the other grabbed whatever they could use themselves (mostly maps and navigation items).

Paralyzed, Lovino could only watch and pray; and his prayers, evidently, were unheard. One of the pirates, the shortest of the two, was already making his way out when he suddenly spotted Lovino in the corner. Startled, he yelled a loud " _Joder_ ", accidentally dropping some of the stuff he carried. This caught the other's attention, and soon he was by his mate, a blood-stained cutlass in his hand. Lovino trembled at the sight and pressed harder against the wall behind him, almost hoping he could merge with it.

"Looks like a rat managed to avoid us," the short pirate said, smiling dangerously. He spoke Spanish, a language Lovino was fluent in (his father had paid a lot for his son to learn quite a handful of languages, deeming it important for the business). "What do you think, Raúl?" the pirate went on, addressing his comrade yet keeping his sharp gaze fixed on Lovino. "Should I give him the privilege of a quick death?" His hand was reaching for his pistol when the other stopped him.

"I think we should take him to the Captain," Raúl replied, intently studying Lovino as he slid the cutlass back into its sheath. "He doesn't look like a sailor." He put aside the objects he had grabbed before and pulled a dagger from his belt, walking with purpose towards Lovino. "Up," he growled when he reached him. When Lovino failed to react, he grabbed his arm and pulled him up roughly, pressing the dagger to his throat the moment he was on his feet. "I said _up_. Come on."

For a moment, Lovino considered fighting back, resisting. But the tight grasp on his arm was enough to let him know that the pirate was way stronger than him, and the calm, almost professional way in which the dagger rested against his neck told him that the man wouldn't hesitate to kill him. Survival instinct easily prevailed over pride: Lovino bit his lip, blinked to stop the tears that threatened to spill down his cheeks, and obediently walked by Raúl when he started to move.

The sun blinded him for a moment when they stepped back on deck, and Lovino groaned in annoyance. But when his eyes got used to the light again, he wished he had remained blinded.

There were bodies scattered all around the ship. A few pirates here and there, but mostly the crew that had sailed with and looked after him for the last few weeks. Lovino felt a lump in his throat and tried to look away. However, no matter where his gaze landed, he still felt sick: if it wasn't the dead, it was the pirates stealing the cargo or making sure none of the sailors remained alive. His stomach twisted; he wanted to throw up.

"Raúl!" someone called behind them. "I didn't know we were taking prisoners."

Raúl promptly turned around at that voice, forcing Lovino to turn with him. There was a well-dressed man (pirate) walking towards them. He looked gracious, even while dodging corpses and cleaning the blood off his sword on a ripped cloth. His long, blonde hair was kept in a ponytail, held in place by a blue silk ribbon, though it was quite dishevelled after the battle. He scratched his stubble and stared at Lovino with deep blue eyes. "Where did you find him anyway?" he asked, a slight French accent on his otherwise perfect Spanish.

Before Raúl could answer, a loud crash was heard, followed by a pained scream. Soon after, the door that lead down to the cellar was burst open and a man stumbled on deck. Lovino barely recognized Captain Ennio: the man he remembered used to stand straight and proud, occasionally showing off some medals, always with a nice smile on his face. Now, however, he scrambled on the floor, defeated, _scared_. His face was covered in blood — Lovino didn't dare to look closely, but he could've sworn he was missing a piece of his ear — and his face was contorted in an expression that showed both pain and fear.

And when a second man walked in, Lovino understood why.

He had assumed that the Frenchman was the captain of those pirates. He moved, looked and sounded like an authority, and seemed to be respected. But that man, that brown-haired devil in a red coat that walked on deck as if he owned it, _he_ had to be the captain.

"Where do you think you're going?" he asked, his voice a low, husky growl, as he walked towards Captain Ennio with murderous eyes. "I'm not done playing with you."

Captain Ennio raised his cutlass and pointed it towards the Spaniard as he crawled away. The pirate captain laughed cruelly and strode behind him. He was clearly enjoying the fear and despair in his enemy's eyes. Knowing he didn't stand a chance on the floor, Captain Ennio struggled to get back on his feet, swinging his sword back and forth to prevent the pirate from getting closer.

But then the Spaniard attacked masterfully: his cutlass moved swiftly, smacking the other's out of the way and easily slicing the hand that held it.

Captain Ennio shrieked in pain, letting go of his weapon and bringing his injured hand to the other. He clutched it tightly, in a failed attempt at stopping the bleeding that only resulted in it hurting even more. Dizzy, he fell to his knees, head bowed, trying to gasp for air. Soon, two dark boots entered his vision field and a sharp edge caressed his neck.

"K-Kill me," he gasped in Spanish.

The pirate chuckled darkly. "And where would the fun in that be?" He had barely finished uttering those words when he grabbed Captain Ennio by the hair and brought his face forwards, making it meet his knee. All the witnesses could clearly hear the _crack_ the nose made when it was broken, even though it was immediately covered by an agonizing scream. Captain Ennio fell to the ground, screaming and writhing in pain, much to the Spaniard's satisfaction. A dark, macabre smile appeared on his face. When the other rolled to his side, he lifted a foot and stomped hard, catching the injured hand under it.

Captain Ennio, already in tears, let out yet another painful scream, and Lovino couldn't take in anymore.

"STOP TORTURING HIM, YOU MONSTER!" he yelled, a couple of tears rolling down his cheeks. He only realized he had almost launched himself against the Spaniard when he felt two pairs of hands holding him firmly in place — Raúl and the Frenchman.

Startled, both captains turned and looked at him. The pirate frowned, as if he was only then realizing there were other people on deck besides him and his prey; Captain Ennio gasped and let out a choked " _Signor_ " when he recognized him. But Lovino barely heard him — all his senses were focused on the pirate captain before him, who was staring straight back at him.

The Spaniard looked back at Captain Ennio, then back at Lovino, then around himself. There was a chilling silence, only broken by the rustle of the sea and the creaking of the ships. And then, a laugh. It started as a quiet chuckle that only grew in intensity until it was all that could be heard.

Lovino felt sick. He wished he could shut his ears to that maniacal laughter — he didn't want to hear it. But then it ended as abruptly as it had started, and Lovino shivered when the pirate's burning gaze focused only on him.

"Stop, you say?" he purred. His voice was husky and dripped danger; a twisted smile appeared on his face when a clearly scared Lovino swallowed in fear.

The pirate slid his cutlass back into its sheath, not caring that he hadn't cleaned it, and took a step towards Lovino. Captain Ennio tried to grab his foot before he could take a second, but the Spaniards easily kicked him away and kept advancing towards Lovino, not once looking away from him.

Lovino tried to tell himself that he stood in place because he was going to bravely face the pirate, and not because fear had him paralyzed; that his legs trembled out of excitement and not fright; that the sudden urge to bow his head was only because the sunlight bothered him. He tried to convince himself with all his might, but as his world narrowed down to the devil walking towards him (he didn't even notice when Raúl and the Frenchman let go of him and took a step back), he had to admit it: he was terrified.

The Spaniard finally reached him, and the first thing Lovino noticed was that the pirate was one head taller than him. Swallowing his fear, he slowly looked up.

The first thing he saw were a pair of green eyes that would have been beautiful, seductive even, were they not full of rage and bloodlust. His tanned face was handsome, though it was hard to appreciate it under the blood (not his) that freckled it. Wild strands of curly, chestnut hair fell over his forehead; the rest was tied in a clumsy ponytail that was held together by a crimson ribbon. His long coat was the same colour — dark red; blood red — and hanging from his belt and sash were more weapons than Lovino could name, or even count.

"I don't like it when people interrupt me while I play," the Spaniard said. His voice was soft yet stern, as if he were calmly scolding a little kid (Lovino couldn't even be offended — by then, he did feel like a child), but there was a certain eeriness about it, an unspoken threat. "Ah, but you had a request, didn't you?" His hand moved swiftly and grabbed Lovino's collar; he then pulled and dragged him all the way back to where Captain Ennio still laid.

Taken by surprise, Lovino could only follow him. He wouldn't have been able to put up a fight anyway: the pirate was way too strong. And even if he could, he wouldn't have — he was aghast.

"Okay," the Spaniard smiled cruelly when they finally reached Captain Ennio. "What was your request again?" he asked before harshly kicking the other captain on the stomach.

Lovino let out a chocked gasp. "Stop it," he whispered. He wanted to turn around, wanted to leave, but the pirate still held him firmly. "Just—stop it."

"Hmm—? I didn't catch that," the captain mocked him, landing his heel on Captain Ennio's knee, rejoicing in the pained scream that provoked.

"I said _stop it_!" Lovino yelled. Unable to hold it in anymore, he started to cry again, tears running freely down his cheeks. "Stop it!"

"Why? I'm having fun!" His eyes gleamed with cruel delight. He was like a child that enjoyed capturing flies to rip off their wings and legs one by one.

"He's in pain! He's suffering!"

"Oh?" The Spaniard finally stopped kicking Captain Ennio and turned to look at Lovino straight in the eye. "And you want that to stop?"

"Yes!"

"You want him to stop suffering?"

" _Yes_!"

The pirate's lips twisted into a crooked smile. "Very well." He pushed Lovino back and in a quick, smooth movement grabbed Captain Ennio by the hair and forced him up to his knees, at the same time pulling a sharp dagger from his belt.

Horrified, Lovino yelped: " _No_!" and ran back to them. The Spaniard smirked. When Lovino reached him and threw a punch at his face, he grabbed his wrist… and slid the dagger in his hand. Then he backed a couple of steps and drew his cutlass from the sheath, pointing it at Lovino.

"Then kill him," he said, dead serious, pointing to Captain Ennio with a nod. All the previous mockery had left him, and he stared at Lovino with stone-cold eyes.

Shocked, Lovino blinked a few times, looking at the blade in his hand in confusion. His breathing quickened. "Wha—"

"Kill him."

Lovino snapped out of his stupor when the order was repeated. He sent a quick gaze towards Captain Ennio, who remained on his knees in front of him, head bowed and shaky breath, and then he looked back at the Spaniard. "I—I don't—" he blabbered.

"You said you wanted for him to stop suffering," the pirate stated. "That's the only way." The edge of his sword (still dripping fresh blood, Lovino noted with disgust) pressed under his chin and made him raise his head. "See, I ain't gonna kill him. I'm not that merciful. So you either kill him now and spare him the pain, or I'm going to keep playing with him until I get tired or he bleeds out, whichever comes first. And in that case," his voice grew even colder, more impersonal, and his gaze burnt into Lovino's, "you're next."

The choice seemed obvious. Lovino clenched his hand around the dagger, gulped, and looked down at Captain Ennio. It would be too easy: his head was just before his hands — it would take no effort to slit his throat. He raised his hand, slowly. It was shaking. The blade on his neck retired, though it remained pointed at him; teary-eyed, Lovino turned to face the pirate and spat: "You're cruel."

"The world is cruel," he replied without missing a beat. "The sooner you learn that, the better." He tilted his head; some of his hair fell on his face, but Lovino could still feel the cold glare from behind it. "I'm waiting," he said, calmly, his gaze flickering to Captain Ennio and back to Lovino. "And I'm not a patient man."

Biting his lower lip to keep it from trembling, Lovino's attention went back to Captain Ennio, who didn't seem to be aware anymore of what was going on around him. However, when Lovino took a step closer, the Captain raised his head and looked at him, his eyes clouded yet still awake. They were full of sorrow, regret — but not fear. That, at least, comforted Lovino a little bit.

" _Signor_ Vargas… Lovino," Captain Ennio managed to whisper, a thin trail of blood dripping from his mouth. "Please…"

Despite trying with all his might, Lovino couldn't hold back a choked sob. How could he refuse an agonizing man's plea? His hand didn't shake this time, though he did close his eyes when the sharp blade — sharper than he had thought at first — easily gashed the Captain's throat. Half horrified, half disgusted, he dropped the dagger the moment he heard the heavy thud of a body hitting the ground and held his hands over his mouth, not sure if he was trying to stop himself from crying out or from throwing up.

Then he heard the pirate beside him chuckling darkly, and he saw red.

"YOU'RE A FUCKING BASTARD!" he yelled, his eyes opening to glare at him with all his might. All his survival instinct vanished: without stopping to think that he was disarmed or that the pirate could easily kill him in a hundred different ways, he attacked him with blind rage. He didn't mind if he was killed afterwards — he'd be happy to just lay a single punch on his despicable face.

Unfortunately, his was nothing more than a childish fantasy. He didn't even see it coming: the Spaniard took one step back for impulse and harshly smacked him across the face with the back of his hand. The pain brought tears to his eyes and his mind back to reality: he was a seventeen-year-old who had never before been involved in a fight — he didn't have the smallest chance of hitting the pirate.

The strength of the blow received had him stumbling sideways, and the only reason he didn't fall was because, immediately after hitting him, that same hand grabbed him by the collar of his shirt. He barely had time to revaluate his position: he was yanked back to where he was before and, suddenly, the Spaniard's face was right in front of his.

"A bastard?" the pirate hissed. His green eyes gleamed with barely-controlled rage; it was safe to assume he hadn't liked the insult. "I am merely what the world made me," he spat. Being this close, Lovino could feel on his face the pirate's breath, could smell the blood on his clothes. It was making him sick. "And you only have people like you, or him," he pointed at Captain Ennio's body, "to blame."

Lovino didn't know what he meant by that, nor did he have the time to wonder too much. Still holding him by the collar, the Spaniard dragged him back to where Raúl and the Frenchman still stood, unfazed by the scene they had just watched.

"Francis, Francis, Francis, my beloved and loyal first-mate," the captain said, shaking his head as they approached, "what is this?" he asked, pushing Lovino forward.

"A crying, scared and possibly traumatized kid?" the Frenchman offered. When the other narrowed his eyes, clearly indicating the irony was not well-received, he shrugged. "Raúl found him."

"Aye, sir, I did," Raúl confirmed, straightening when his captain's glare fell on him. "He was hiding in the captain's cabin; he didn't look like a sailor, and I thought he might be someone important."

"Hm." With a shrug, the captain let go of Lovino and pushed him towards Raúl. "Whatever. Throw him overboard."

Taken by surprise, it took Raúl a moment to react, but soon he slightly bowed his head as he muttered a half-hearted "aye, captain".

"Hang on a sec, Raúl," Francis intervened. "Captain, may I have a word with you?"

"No."

"Captain, I must insist."

He received an annoyed glare, but also a begrudging nod. "In a moment," he grunted. "Have we taken everything of value?" he asked, pleased to receive a positive answer. "Then set this ship on fire and let's go back to _El Diablo_. We can talk there."

He gave a few more orders, but Lovino heard none of them, as barely noticed when Raúl dragged him from one ship to the other. His mind had gotten stuck on two words: _El Diablo_. He knew that name; knew that ship. He couldn't count how many times he had heard his father warning whichever crew he had hired to avoid it at all costs.

And if he knew the ship, he also knew its captain.

Antonio Carriedo had only been plundering the Mediterranean for a couple of years, but he had already established himself as one of the most fearsome pirates of his time. He was wanted by several crowns, dead or alive, but not many could boost of having survived him — and those who could, would rather not remember it. There were many rumours surrounding him, rumours Lovino had never believed but that didn't seem so exaggerated now.

Even more frightened than before, Lovino closed his eyes and started to pray.

~{x}~{§}~{x}~

From the deck of _El Diablo_ , Antonio watched as the flames consumed the merchant ship, absently cleaning the blood off his cutlass. It had been a very satisfactory attack: barely five deaths from his crew, a considerable loot, and oh, had he had fun! Playing with the other captain had been even more thrilling than other times; and then _that boy_. He had instantly despised him — his well-combed hair, his expensive clothes, his lordly air — but he'd be lying if he said he hadn't liked the fire in those amber eyes. He had enjoyed extinguishing it, reducing it to embers. But he hadn't been able to completely erase it; it made him wonder if it could resurface.

Francis' voice pulled him out of his thoughts.

"Hmm—?"

"I said, may we talk now, Captain?"

He blinked a few times, trying to get rid of the fire's charm, and looked at his first-mate, who stood patient beside him. "Yes, we may," he sighed. He slid the cutlass back into its sheath and followed Francis to a quiet corner.

"Antonio," Francis said, all manners gone now that they were alone. There was no need for titles between them. "Don't kill the boy."

"I had the feeling you were going to say that," Antonio scoffed. "Why, pray, must I spare him?"

"For the same reason Raúl didn't kill him on sight: he's valuable. You don't have to look twice to see he comes from a rich family — we can demand a nice ransom."

Antonio made a face. He didn't like the idea, and Francis knew why; he was very well aware that his captain wanted anyone like that boy dead

"Look, you won't even notice he's on board. Raúl will be in charge of feeding him and all that stuff; I'll take care of contacting the family. Just — _think_ for once, okay?" He took a deep breath and moved closer, speaking lower. "The crew already dislikes your caprices when it comes to boarding one ship or another. We got a nice loot today, so they'll be content for a while; let's not risk annoying them by throwing away a potential great sum of money, shall we?"

Antonio closed his eyes and rubbed his forehead. All the post-battle calm was leaving him. He didn't have it in himself to argue. "Alright," he sighed. "But the moment he becomes a bother, I'm personally tossing him overboard."

"Understood," Francis laughed, patting his shoulder. "I'll go find out which filthy-rich family he belongs to, then."

"Vargas," Antonio said before Francis could go. "The captain called him _Signor_ Vargas."

"Vargas?" Francis repeated, shocked. "Well, that's another level of filthy rich," he chuckled. "We may get enough money to retire."

"Yeah, yeah, whatever," Antonio waved his hand dismissively. "Go do your thing — give orders and stuff. I'll go…" he brushed his fingers through his loose hair and made a face when they came out blood-stained. "I'll go wash myself."

"Aye, Captain."

~{x}~{§}~{x}~

Lovino followed Raúl into the ship's cellar, furrowing his nose at the stench. It was dark and creepy, but at least the Spanish bastard wouldn't show up down there (or so had Raúl assured him).

"Where's the jail?" he asked when his eyes got used to the dark and he realized there were no bars or locked areas of any kind.

"There's no jail," Raúl answered, guiding him to a wall. "Just this," he added, lifting the shackles that were chained to the wall.

There was only one pair. It gave Lovino an idea of how many prisoners that ship took. Obedient, he let Raúl shackle him; they were cold, but at least they didn't hurt him (for once, he was glad to be bony).

"Does it hurt?" Raúl asked, poking his cheek.

Lovino hissed in pain — Antonio had smacked him hard. He bit his lip and nodded.

"Okay, uh, then you may want to…" The pirate grabbed his hand and lifted it, softly pressing the cold shackle against Lovino's sore cheek. "It'll feel better soon."

"Thank you," Lovino whispered.

When Raúl left, having promised he'd try to make sure he didn't get only leftovers for his lunches, Lovino sat on the floor, hugging his knees, and started to sob quietly. As much as he appreciated Raúl's kindness, he prayed for hours; prayed for a thunderstorm to come and sink that damned ship, for a royal armada to appear and reduce it to splinters.

He hated that cellar, despised that ship.

And, most of all, he loathed the Spanish captain.

* * *

 _AN/ Yes, Antonio's name is missing the first surname. It's intentional, worry not. Anyway, reviews are always welcome! :)_


	2. Chapter II

**TIGHT ROPE**

 **Chapter II**

The night was calm, quiet. Anchored in a hidden bay of the Spanish coast, the ship rocked softly under the starry sky, lulling everyone in it to sleep.

Sat on the upper deck, Antonio sighed, his tired gaze lazily staring at the stars as he slowly grabbed the bottle of rum and took one long swallow. While his crew appreciated these nights in which they could take some deserved rest, sleep and not fight against storms, or simply enjoy the sweet pleasure of having nothing to do, Antonio hated it. He hated the calm, the quiet, the idleness. It left him alone with his thoughts.

As he drank some more, he heard steps coming up the stairs, and recognized them even before seeing who it was. He didn't even have to look to know Francis would have the same expression as always, half worried, half disappointed.

"Antonio," Francis called softly, walking to him and sitting by his side. "Are you drunk?"

"Yes."

"How much?"

"Not enough."

Francis sighed and ran his fingers through his long, blond hair. "Antonio, you drink too much," he finally said after a while.

Antonio groaned and threw his head back. _Not this again_.

"I'm worried," Francis went on, ignoring the other's clear disgust towards the topic. "It can't be good for you."

"I don't care."

"I do."

"See, that's your problem," Antonio muttered. "You care too much." He took another sip. "Francis, I appreciate that you worry for me, I really do — but don't bother."

Francis made a face that Antonio had learnt to recognize as his I'll-stop-for-now-but-don't-think-I've-given-up expression. For how long had they been periodically having this same conversation? _Years_. Although he kept telling him to stop, deep inside Antonio knew he'd hate it if Francis actually stopped interrupting his late-night drinking to (try to) convince him to quit it. It made him feel loved. He liked being reminded that Francis was there for him.

Francis, his first-mate, his best friend, who knew his darkest secrets and deepest fears yet still welcomed him.

Francis, who had just said something Antonio had missed.

"Hmm—?"

"I said that I've finished writing the letter for the Vargas family. I'll send the next time we reach port."

"It's taken you some time."

"I've written a few copies, just to make sure one reaches them. And my Italian is a bit rusty — I had to ask the kid to help me with a few sentences."

Antonio narrowed his eyes. "You've talked to him?"

"Just a couple of times," Francis shrugged. "He's smart. It's nice to have someone in this ship who can carry a conversation outside of money, alcohol and women."

"What about me?"

"Well, you don't really care about money or women, I'll give you that. But you have enough alcohol to cover for them." He made a show of pointing towards Antonio's almost empty bottle. "And all the other topics you provide are rather grim."

"Can you blame me?" he growled, darkly.

"No. I actually pity you a lot," Francis said, patting his shoulder. "Which is why I try to help you, and why I keep insisting that you should drink less." He stood up and stretched. "I care for you, Toni. Don't forget it," he added with a smile before walking away.

Antonio snorted. Why did Francis always seem to know what to say? There were few things he was actually grateful for, but one of those was definitely having Francis by his side. He couldn't have asked for a better friend.

Slowly, he raised the bottle to his eye level. There was still some rum inside. He tilted it, little by little, until the liquid threatened to spill out. Francis was right, he knew it. He drank way too much; it was surprising he still hadn't encountered any health problems related to it. They would come soon, though, if he kept drinking at such a crazy pace.

Then again, the nightmares were worse. And alcohol kept them at bay.

Antonio spilled what was left of the rum, but in his throat.

~{x}~{§}~{x}~

Lovino groaned as he tried to find a comfortable position. The chain was too short: he could barely walk two steps away from the wall, nor lay down on the floor without his arms hanging awkwardly. In the few days he had been in the pirate ship, he had only been unlocked a couple of times; times when Raúl didn't have any duty and could spare some time for him. The pirate would drop by, grab the keys to his shackles (which were hanged in the opposite wall, just out of his reach) and set him free just for ten minutes. He'd watch him with a keen eye, a hand always ready to draw his sword, but allowed him to walk around freely and answered to most of his questions.

The first time, Lovino had asked him why he followed a man like Antonio Carriedo.

"The Captain isn't a bad man," Raúl had replied after thinking over it for a while. "He gets carried away in battle and despises the likes of you, but that's it. He's just someone you don't want to be enemies with."

Lovino had a hard time believing that. Raúl had tried to convince him that, bloodlust and apparently random hatred aside, Carriedo was in fact a nice person, but Lovino couldn't imagine him as anything else than a monster who constantly thirsted for blood.

And then there was Francis. The first-mate had visited a couple of times with the sole purpose of having him help with his own rescue letter, but had always stayed longer to talk. He had apologized on Antonio's behalf for what he had made him do, but Lovino had correctly guessed that the captain didn't regret it in the slightest. Still, he had appreciated the Frenchman's attempt at lifting up his spirits a little bit. And he knew he had Francis to thank for remaining alive — he was well aware that, if it weren't for him, he'd been rotting in the bottom of the sea by then. All things considered, he quite liked the Frenchman.

Besides Raúl and Francis, he hadn't talked to anyone else. Some pirates sneered at him when they walked by his side, sometimes dropping humiliating or offensive comments, but never actually talked to him. And Carriedo hadn't bothered to visit him even once, something for which Lovino was, in fact, very grateful.

Frustrated, Lovino pulled at the chain and kicked the wall. There really wasn't a single comfortable position, and his muscles were starting to get sore. Groaning, he stretched and rubbed his shoulder.

And then he heard heavy steps coming down the stairs.

He froze in place. Although Francis had assured him that no crewmember would lay a single finger on him, Lovino couldn't help but be afraid. He had seen the way some of the pirates stared at him, with poorly-disguised lust in their half-lidded eyes; it made him wonder how long it had been since the last time they had touched anyone, and if any of them would be desperate enough to accept a few lashings in exchange for relief. He clenched his fists. If his night visitor did, indeed, have that in mind, he sure as hell was putting up a fight.

But when someone finally entered the brig, Lovino was shocked to see Antonio Carriedo himself. It took him a moment to recognize him: he wasn't wearing his signature red coat nor carried any weapons, and his long hair was loose. Also, unlike during their first meeting, in which he had moved with purpose, showing who was in charge with just his mere presence, he now stumbled, tripping with his own feet, until he crashed against the wall in front of Lovino.

For a few minutes, they didn't do or say anything — Lovino was too taken aback, and Antonio was looking around himself with a confused expression on his face, as if he didn't know what he was doing down there. But when his gaze landed on Lovino, he smirked and purred: "Good night".

That snapped Lovino back to reality. He crossed his arms (or did the closest he could manage with the shackles) and glared at him. "Get out," he spat.

"Giving me orders in my own ship?" Antonio chuckled, his smirk growing bigger. His fingers started to play with the keys to Lovino's shackles, that hanged right next to him. "That's not very smart, is it?"

Lovino raised an eyebrow, having noticed that the captain was slurring. "Are you drunk?"

Antonio laughed and stumbled towards him; instinctively, Lovino walked backwards and pressed against the wall, only to end up trapped between it and the pirate when he reached him and pressed his fists to the wall, one on each side of him. "Maybe," Antonio answered, and Lovino furrowed when the stench of alcohol reached him. "Are you scared?"

"No," Lovino replied vehemently, even though he had to admit to himself that yes, he was a little afraid. "You're not going to do anything to me. I'm valuable," he added, defiant. He had been whispering those same words to himself like a mantra during those last few days, whenever despair threatened to take over.

Again, however, he received a drunken chuckle as an answer. "You'd think so, wouldn't you?" Antonio said, pulling away from him and pacing around. "You and your ilk are always so arrogant."

"I _am_ ," Lovino spat, offended. "Like it or not, I'm worth much more than you'll ever be, you fucking bastard."

Had he known the effect those words would have, he would have never said them.

Antonio's expression morphed from happily drunk to furiously enraged in a matter of seconds, and he moved fast: before Lovino could process what had happened, he pulled out a dagger from God knew where and jabbed it on the wall behind Lovino, merely centimetres away from his neck.

Startled, Lovino flinched and closed his eyes. He _was_ scared now — he was very, very scared. The pirate was now even closer than before, and he could feel on his face his quick, shaken breath. The arm that had wielded the dagger, which he still held, was pressed against his shoulder, making Lovino painfully aware of how close the blade was from his jugular. He briefly wondered if the Spaniard had missed on purpose before the other's cold, angry voice reached his ears:

"Let's make one thing clear," Antonio hissed, moving slightly so that he was speaking directly into Lovino's ear: "your life has no value to me. As far as I'm concerned, you are absolutely worthless. So you should consider yourself lucky — _very_ lucky — for being alive and in one piece; and don't you _ever again_ dare to think that just because I've kept you alive this far I won't do anything to you if you dare to insult me again." Roughly, he pulled the dagger out of the wall and slid the edge against Lovino's neck, softly enough to avoid cutting him yet firmly enough to help convey the message: "I won't miss the next time," he warned before abruptly pulling away and stomping out of the brig.

The moment his steps could no longer be heard, Lovino dared to breathe again. There were tears rolling down his cheeks, and his knees felt so weak. Trembling, he slid against the wall until he was sat on the floor; then brought his knees to his chest.

And then he started to sob.

~{x}~{§}~{x}~

Francis opened the door to Antonio's cabin to find him sprawled on his bed, lying on his face, in a deep slumber. It was to be expected, after all he had drunk the night before. Out of experience, Francis knew it'd be unwise to wake him up: not only was it early (Antonio was NOT a morning person), but also the captain despised being awoken. Deciding he'd better let him arise on his own when the time came (though knowing he'd do it himself if he was still asleep by noon), Francis got out, closing the door behind him without caring if he banged it too hard and made his way down to the brig.

He completely forgot what he wanted to do when he saw Lovino: curled up on the floor, eyes red from crying, trembling like a frightened deer. The boy flinched when he walked towards him, although seemed relieved to see him.

"Lovino?" Francis asked, tentative, as he moved slower. "What's the matter?" His gaze flickered to the hole in the wall, then back to the trembling boy. "Did any sailor do anything to you?"

"S-Sort of," Lovino answered in a low voice, sniffing.

"Okay, it's alright," the Frenchman assured, crouching in front of him. "Did he hurt you?"

"Not really; he just—just threatened me."

"Right. How about you tell me what happened, hm? I'll see what I can do," he offered, smiling kindly.

But Lovino shook his head. "There's nothing you can do."

"I doubt it. I'm the second-in-command, you know? I can have anyone in the ship flogged — unless it was Antonio, of course," he added with a chuckle. His smile died the moment he saw Lovino wince. "Oh God. It was Antonio, wasn't it?"

Lovino nodded.

Groaning, Francis dropped his face on his hands. "That fucking _idiot_ ," he mumbled, pissed off. With a deep, exhausted sigh, he properly sat on the ground and rubbed his forehead. "Will you please tell me what happened?"

"He—He came late at night. He was very drunk," said Lovino. "He was cheerful. Then I—said something that really angered him." He made a pause to dry his nose on his sleeve. "He suddenly got so violent; he stabbed the wall n-next to m-my n-neck," he stuttered, almost starting to cry again, "a-a-and threatened me."

"Yes, that sounds like Antonio," Francis sighed again. "He's a bit violent when drunk. Just what did you say to him to anger him that much?"

Lovino's gaze focused on the floor, unable to meet Francis' interrogating blue eyes. "I told him that I'm worth more than him," he whispered. "And I called him a bastard."

"Really?" Francis raised an eyebrow, impressed. "I'm surprised you're still alive, then." Not giving Lovino the chance to ask, he stood up. "I'm certain you've learnt your lesson, but I'll warn you again just in case: if Antonio ever comes back down here, be _very_ careful with what you say. Anyway, as a precaution…" he sighed, knowing fully well he was going to regret it, "I'm going to hide his alcohol."

~{x}~{§}~{x}~

Antonio jolted awake when a glass of ice-cold water was poured on his head. " _What the_ —?!" he yelled, pushing himself to a sitting position.

"Wake up. It's noon," said Francis as he left a now empty glass on the nightstand.

"Couldn't you wake me up like a normal person?" Antonio groaned, pushing wet strands of hair out of his face.

"I tried, but you were sleeping so deeply that nothing worked. If you hadn't been snoring, I'd have feared you were dead."

"The wonders of alcohol-induced sleep," the Spaniard commented as he stood up and stretched.

"Ah, speaking of — do you remember everything you did yesterday night?"

"Yesterday night?" he frowned. "Mostly drink, I think."

"What about threatening Lovino?"

Antonio froze in place at those words. He blinked slowly, trying to rescue fogged memories from the dark abyss the rum had created. "I—think I did something of the sort, yes," he finally admitted. "I didn't hurt him, did I?"

"No, he's fine — physically. You scared him a lot, though."

"He said things I didn't like."

"I know; he told me. But, Antonio," said Francis, in the same tone a mother would use to reprimand an unruly child, "that doesn't mean you can just go and threaten to kill him."

"I didn't hurt him in any way," the captain replied. He was starting to be annoyed. "And he won't do it again, if he's smart, so there's no risk of me actually harming him. End of conversation," he added with a growl when Francis opened his mouth to rebate.

Francis shut his mouth, a hurt look in his eyes. "As you order, Captain," he said with a cold voice, promptly leaving the cabin.

For a moment, Antonio considered rushing after him to apologize. He knew Francis, before his first-mate, was his best friend, and as such worried about his well-being and only wanted the best for him. And he returned the feelings — he didn't want to fight with him.

But his pride was stronger.

He waited a little, just to make sure he wouldn't bump into Francis; then, throwing his red coat over his shoulders, he walked outside. All the crew was already on deck, rushing from one place to another, preparing the ship to set sail. Antonio went straight to the upper deck, where the navigator was already at the wheel.

"Morning, Captain!" he greeted. "We'll be ready to leave soon. Where to?"

Antonio smiled and leant against the railing.

"Ibiza."

~{x}~{§}~{x}~

The ship had been moving for a while, and Lovino was starting to feel nauseous. He had dealt fairly well with seasickness when he could be on deck, but now, being locked in the brig, everything was even worse (and being surrounded by disgusting pirates didn't help, either). To make things worse, whenever he stood (the only position in which he didn't feel like throwing up), there was the whole in the wall that reminded him of his encounter with the Spanish captain the night before.

Things couldn't be worse.

He was so relieved when Raúl finally showed up with some food (even though he wasn't sure if he was going to be able to stomach it), because it meant both a distraction and being unchained for a while.

"Good morning, Lovino," Raúl smiled, cheerful, as he dropped a small bag next to him. "There's breakfast."

"Someone's in a good mood," Lovino commented as he raised his hands, silently asking to be released.

"Of course I am!" the pirate laughed. He grabbed the keys and unchained Lovino's shackles. "We're setting course to Ibiza!"

"Ibiza? What's so special about Ibiza?" Lovino asked as he started to pace around the brig, stretching.

"Ah, Ibiza…" Raúl sighed, and stumbled to the stairs to sit on them. "Ibiza is an island outside of the law. The Mediterranean Tortuga. Nest of pirates, bandits and every kind of despicable outlaws — like yours truly," he chuckled, saluting mockingly. "The best place to get drunk surrounded by women… which is probably what the whole crew is dreaming of," he mused. "We got a good loot the other day."

"Oh, really?" Lovino grunted.

Raúl smirked an raised his hand, as if holding an imaginary cup.

"I'll toast for you as I spend your money."

* * *

 _AN/ First things first: all that about Ibiza, I totally made it up. I've no idea if it ever was a pirate port (probably not), but for the sake of the story, it now is. Then again, I doubt any of you is reading this for the historical accuracy. :P Anyway, I hope you liked drunk Antonio and actual-mother Francis; review? :3_


	3. Chapter III

_AN/ Just a comment (might not be necessary, but just in case): every time the characters talk, they're speaking Spanish. Whenever a different language is used, it's written in italics (I'll usually let you know which language it is they're speaking; in this chapter, it's all English).  
That's it; enjoy the chapter!_

* * *

 **TIGHT ROPE**

 **Chapter III**

 _Pain. His backside hurts. He's crying. There's a voice telling him that it's okay, it'll be over soon, don't scream. He hates that voice — it tries to be sweet, but it's nothing more than poison. He has learnt to see the sharp teeth that hide behind a kind smile._

 _Suddenly, blood. There's blood everywhere: on the floor, on the walls, on his hands, his face, his hair. There's a body lying on the ground. It's nothing more than a blur, but he knows who it is. As he knows who the dark silhouette standing next to it is. He's cold. The man standing starts to laugh — it's a cruel laugh, chilling — and points at him. There are now thousands of accusatory fingers pointing at him; thousands of impersonal voices that scream '_ Murderer! Murderer! _'. He tries to move, tries to run, but he's glued to the spot._

 _The fingers keep pointing, and the voices keep calling, and the dark man keeps laughing, and he's screaming screaming screaming screaming_ —

Antonio woke up with a loud shriek, pushing himself to a sitting position. His breath was shaken — he was almost hyperventilating. Those voices, that _laugh_ , still resonated inside his brain, and he dropped his head in his hands, his nails digging into his scalp, hoping the pain would help him chase them away.

It didn't.

"Shut up, shut up, _shut up_ ," he whimpered, curling up in a failed attempt at stopping trembling. His nails dug deeper in his scalp — he was most definitely bleeding now. "Shut up…"

He didn't hear the door to his cabin opening and closing, nor the fast steps towards his bed, so he was startled when he felt two steady hands on his own, softly pulling them away from his head. Then he felt a weight sitting on the mattress next to him, and he was pulled into a warm embrace.

"It's okay, Antonio," Francis' familiar, comforting voice said. "I'm here. It's okay. You're fine."

Still trembling, although significantly less than before, Antonio snuggled closer to his friend and, burying his face on Francis' shoulder, broke down in tears.

"Sssh, it's okay, everything's fine," Francis whispered. One of his hands was stroking Antonio's hair; the other rubbed soothing circles on his back. He held his friend as he cried, never stopping to whisper reassuring words to him, reminding him that he was safe.

Little by little, Francis' soft voice replaced the nightmarish howls, and his gentle touch eventually tamed his trembling body. He still had trouble breathing and had to take big gulps of air, but at least he no longer felt as if he were suffocating.

"I'm going to kill him, Francis," Antonio choked out. "Even if it's the last thing I do, I'm going to find him, I'm going to hunt him down, and I'm going to kill him."

"I know." Gently, Francis pushed Antonio's face off his shoulder and dried his cheeks with his sleeve. He'd worry about his own drenched shirt later. "I promised you I'd help you a long time ago."

"Everything's his fault," Antonio insisted. "I'm completely fucked up, and it's all his fault."

"I know," Francis repeated, managing a soft smile. "But we can't kill him now, can we?"

Antonio blinked slowly and then looked around himself. He was in his cabin. In his ship. _El Diablo_. Somewhere in the Mediterranean, away from him. He took a deep breath. "No," he finally said quietly. "We can't kill him now. He's not here."

"Exactly. And if he's not here, he can't hurt you either, am I right?"

That made sense. Antonio nodded slowly.

"See? There's nothing to worry about," smiled Francis. "It's very early. You should get more sleep."

Antonio flinched at those words, scared. Sleeping meant a high chance of delving into his nightmares again; he didn't want to go back to the fingers and the voices and the pain and the blood and the laughter and—

"Do you want me to stay with you?"

Without waiting for an answer, Francis laid back on the mattress, pulling the captain with him, and covered them with the blanket. Antonio tensed at first, but soon relaxed into his friend's embrace.

He was very tired and, despite the fear, his eyelids soon started to feel heavy.

"I'm going to kill him," he assured one more time, already half asleep, before giving in and falling into a deep, dreamless slumber

~{x}~{§}~{x}~

When Francis woke up later in the morning, Antonio had already left. It didn't surprise him: the Spaniard wasn't a morning person… unless his nightmares were involved. After a bad night, he'd jump out of bed and avoided going back until it was strictly necessary, and would only do it once he had drunk enough to make sure he'd pass out rather than fall asleep. It put Francis in a difficult position, since he didn't wish his friend any suffering, which he evidently got from the nightmares, but hated seeing him drink his health away. He tried to keep a balance, but it wasn't easy — mostly because Antonio refused to cooperate.

Sitting up, Francis rubbed the sleep off his eyes and finger-combed his hair. He made a face at how dirty and knotted it was (and yet it was the cleanest in the entire ship). Hopefully he'd get to have a proper bath in Ibiza, if the best inns weren't full.

He walked outside, where he was greeted by the bright, warm sun. Most of the crew was idle on deck, enjoying the warm weather as they chatted, already making plans for when they docked. Antonio was on the upper deck, leaning on the railing; it looked as if he were supervising what his men did, but Francis knew better. He was well aware that Antonio's mind was far from there.

Not paying any attention to the rest of the crew, Francis walked straight to his friend. "Hey," he greeted when he reached him. "Did you get enough sleep?"

"Hey," Antonio mumbled. Apart from that, he didn't seem to acknowledge Francis' presence, at least for a few more minutes, during which the Frenchman waited patiently. He had years of experience in dealing with post-nightmare Antonio. Finally, the captain pushed away from the railing and turned to look at his first-mate. "I didn't get _enough_ sleep, but I did get some. Thanks."

"Don't mention it," Francis smiled, friendly patting his shoulder. "Any idea where we are?"

"We are on the right course, but there's little wind. I think it'll blow harder in the afternoon, though, so hopefully we'll reach Ibiza before it gets dark."

"That's good."

"Hm."

They fell silent. Antonio leant against the railing again, this time on his back, and closed his eyes, enjoying the warm caress of the sun on his face. "Francis," he called softly after a while. "I'm sorry I'm such a grumpy asshole sometimes."

Francis chuckled. "Apology accepted. Although, to be honest, I'm so used to it by now that I'd be sad if you were to change," he added, smirking playfully.

Antonio smiled and opened one eye to glance sideways at his friend. "What did I do to deserve you?"

"Nothing, but I'm your guardian angel and I'm stuck with you anyway," Francis joked, winking at him.

For the first time since he had woken up from his nightmare, Antonio laughed.

~{x}~{§}~{x}~

As the captain had predicted, not much later than noon their patience was rewarded with a strong, steady wind that pushed _El Diablo_ gently across the sea. The crew was fast to take their positions, encouraged by the promise of food, alcohol and women awaiting in Ibiza, and responded with a cheerful "Aye, Captain!" every time Antonio gave an order.

Seeing that he wasn't needed, Francis went to pay Lovino a visit. He walked down to the brig to find the boy sat against the wall, intently staring at the wall in front of him.

"What's the matter?" the pirate asked, worried. "Is something wrong?"

"No," Lovino answered, monotone. "I was bored, so I was counting the nails on the wall. You've stopped me at forty-two."

Francis burst out laughing, which earned him an annoyed look from Lovino. "Well, I'm sorry for the interruption," he said, "but I have another entertainment for you."

"Oh?" Lovino raised an eyebrow. "And what would that be?"

The Frenchman smiled and handed him some paper, a quill and an inkpot.

"We'll arrive soon at Ibiza, and I'll send the letters to your family once we're there," he explained when Lovino gave him a puzzled look as he slowly grabbed everything. "I thought you may want to write something on your own to them; let them know you're fine."

"Also so they know I'm really alive and you're not bluffing, right?"

"That, too," Francis admitted easily. "But hey, if you don't want to, I'll take all this back…"

"No!" Lovino exclaimed, harshly moving the objects out of Francis' reach. "I do want to write to them. It's more entertaining that counting nails anyway."

"I figured," the pirate smiled. "Well, I'll give you some privacy," he said as he walked to the stairs. "I'll come back to get the letter once we reach port. Oh! And remember to write three copies."

He left after that, but Lovino was no longer paying him any attention. He was staring at the blank sheet in front of him, trying to select the most appropriate words. Carefully, he dipped the tip of the quill in the ink and started to write.

~{x}~{§}~{x}~

The sun was already low by the time they reached Ibiza. There were few ships docked, but the city port remained as lively as usual: as they approached, they all could clearly hear the singing and laughing that came from different streets, inns and houses; sometimes, they could even see groups of drunks that danced their way down a street.

From the upper deck, Antonio watched, amused, how his crew started to prepare the anchor way before it was time to drop it. They were clearly impatient to step on land and blow off their share of the last loot. Beside him, Francis was using his spyglass to take a better look at the city. He heard him sigh.

"What?"

"No matter how many times I come here, I'll always find this city hideous."

"It's a nest of pirates and outlaws, Francis, you can't ask too much of it."

Francis sighed again and went back at looking through the spyglass. He didn't like the small, grey (dirty white, in fact) houses, nor the narrow streets and the stench that was always in them. Alas, that port was the only one in the entire Mediterranean that was safe for pirates, even more for one as renowned as Antonio Carriedo. Sadly, they didn't have much options.

"There aren't many ships," Antonio commented by his side. "Is there any we know?"

"Let me see…" Gladly stopping looking at the city, Francis focused on the ships on port. "No, no, no… _The Crimson King_ , does that ring a bell?"

"Crimson King?" Antonio frowned, thoughtful. "Not really."

" _The Burning Fear_ …"

"No."

" _The Hades_ …"

"No."

"And the last one is—oh."

"What?"

Francis lowered the spyglass slowly, a small smirk on his face, and his eyes gleamed when he turned to look at Antonio. " _The Mermaid's Rose_ ," he simply said.

Surprised, Antonio raised both eyebrows, but soon his expression darkened and he drew a predatory smile. "Well this is a surprise," he purred. "I didn't expect to meet him here this time of the year." In two quick strides, he moved to edge of the ship, from where he could better see the port and all boats in it, his gaze avidly searching for one in particular.

When he finally spotted _The Mermaid's Rose_ , his smirk grew bigger. It was a good ship, bigger than _El Diablo_ ; slower, too, but heavily armed. The mere sight of it made him shiver in anticipation.

If the ship was there, then her captain must be, too.

Arthur Kirkland.

The thought certainly put him in a good mood.

~{x}~{§}~{x}~

The sight of Kirkland's ship had made the crew even more excited. Right after Francis and Antonio, someone else had spotted it, and the news spread like wildfire: soon, everyone whose task allowed it was staring overboard at the pirate ship, eager smirks on their faces. There were hushed conversations all over the ship about how long it had been since the last time they had stumbled upon Kirkland's crew, or about what had been their captain's reaction after seeing _The Mermaid's Rose_.

Despite everyone's eagerness to set foot on land, the whole crew gathered on deck once _El Diablo_ had been securely moored and waited patiently until Antonio, still on the upper deck, addressed them:

"Alright, boys, we have a nice loot," he said, having to make a pause after that because everyone started to cheer, "so go blow it off. We stay here for three nights; on the fourth day, I expect everyone back in this ship by noon. Is it clear?"

"Aye, Captain!" the whole crew yelled in response.

"Okay. I expect no one will get extremely shit-faced on the third night, then," Antonio said casually, glaring at a couple of crewmembers who had done exactly that in one of their previous stopovers. "Anyway…" he smiled and leant on the railing, almost looming over his crew, and his eyes glinted, "I'm sure you've all noticed by now that _The Mermaid's Rose_ is moored in this port." He chuckled when the men yelled affirmative answers, some of them even almost hopping in excitement. _They're like kids_ , he thought briefly, although he'd be lying if he said he didn't feel the same way. "Okay, okay," he said to catch back their attention. "You're all free to do what you want while we're here, of course… but who will join me and Francis for an excursion to _The Black Snake_?"

Nearly everyone raised their hand or fist, most of them screaming "me" or "I will".

Antonio smirked.

~{x}~{§}~{x}~

 _The Black Snake_ was the biggest inn in the city port of Ibiza. It also happened to be the favourite of a bunch of well-known pirates, including Antonio Carriedo and Arthur Kirkland. It came to no surprise, then, that the path from the port to the inn was cleared of sober people, scared people, and basically people who didn't want to cross paths with Captain Carriedo.

As expected, Antonio and his crew didn't encounter any problem in the way, and soon found themselves in front of the inn. There were a couple of pirates at the door, who Antonio recognized as two of Kirkland's men. He halted, his crew doing the same behind him.

"Carriedo," one of the pirates greeted, flashing a smile at them. "The Captain is waiting for you."

"Is he?" Antonio smiled. "News travels fast, it seems. We've barely just arrived."

"He had some of us down the port so he'd be the first to know in case you were to show up," the other explained. "He's eager to see you."

"Well, that makes two of us," Antonio laughed somewhat darkly. "Is he in the common room?" he asked, pointing to the inn with a nod.

"I ain't telling you that. Go in and find it for yourself."

"It'll be my pleasure."

Tired of the conversation, Antonio pushed the pirates out of the way and walked into the inn with purpose.

The instant he was in, he felt tenths of eyes on him. He was already used to it (he had quite the reputation, after all), so he paid it no mind; instead, his gaze quickly scanned his surroundings, trying to spot Kirkland and his dark blue coat, as linked to him as his own red coat was to himself.

To his utter disappointment, he didn't catch sight of anything remotely blue. However, he knew the other captain would show up sooner or later — he just had to wait. Confident, Antonio made a beeline to the bar—

—and was tackled halfway through.

Taken by surprise, he couldn't resist and was pushed sideways until he crashed against the wall. Antonio groaned at the pain. _You fucking coward_ , he thought, annoyed. His attacker fisted the front of his shirt and tried to drop him on the floor; however, the surprise effect had vanished, and Antonio was stronger: he grabbed a fistful of blonde hair and, moving out of the way, attempted to smash his face against the wall.

" _Fuck!_ " the other yelled in English. Right before colliding with the wall, he hung himself from Antonio's arm and pulled down with all his weight, making them both fall to the ground.

Antonio took advantage of it: since he had landed on top, he used the momentum to his favour and landed a punch on the other's face. However, as he had expected, the other recovered quickly and managed to kick him off himself.

He couldn't tell for how long they rolled on the floor, punching and kicking at each other. Despite all his senses being focused on the fight, he could still hear cheers all around him (some for him, some for his opponent), as well as the screams of casual clients who had no idea what was going on. He even recognized some of the voices, particularly Francis' when he yelled at him to please hurry up because he was thirsty

Antonio smirked.

It'd be rude to make his friend wait too long, wouldn't it?

When his adversary tried to stand up, he grabbed him by the shoulders and in one quick movement he roughly pulled him back on the ground, immediately crawling on top on him and raising a fist.

"Okay, okay, I yield! I yield!" the other yelled, raising his hands in defeat.

Antonio tilted his head and, without warning, launched his fist towards his opponent's face. He yelped and closed his eyes… then felt a light poke on his nose.

"Look at that, Arthur, I won," Antonio said when green eye cracked open to send him a half relieved, half annoyed look, his feral expression relaxing and his smirk morphing into a friendly smile. "First round's on you," he added before standing up and offering Kirkland his hand.

" _You're an asshole_ ," Arthur growled, though he accepted his help to get up. " _The biggest asshole I've ever met_."

" _You still love me, though_ ," Antonio replied without missing a beat, playfully ruffling Arthur's blonde hair. "Okay, guys!" he exclaimed, turning to his crew. "Go get yourself a drink — Arthur pays!"

Everyone cheered and rushed past the captains to the bar, harassing the poor owner behind it. The only two who went instead towards Antonio and Arthur were their respective first-mates, who, by the looks of it, had been commenting the fight together.

"Arthur, it hurts me to say this, but you're so out of practice," Francis said, charmingly smiling to the English captain.

Arthur glared at him and told him where he could shove his comments.

Antonio rolled his eyes and stopped paying them attention, too used to his quarrels by then to get worried. Instead, he turned to Arthur's first-mate, who had patted his shoulder (a bit too strongly) in greeting.

" _Dammit, Antonio, you're a fucking beast! What do you do as a pastime, juggling rocks?_ "

The Spaniard laughed and returned the patting. " _Just the usual, Gil: assaulting poor, helpless merchant ships_ ," he replied, smiling brightly.

Antonio quite liked Gilbert: he was a good sailor, a better fighter, and the perfect drinking mate. In fact, he had offered him a few times to join his crew, but the other had always declined it: he didn't want to be in a ship were the main language was Spanish, which he did not speak; he didn't want to permanently sail in the Mediterranean, where the sun could be dangerous for him due to his albino skin; and, anyway, he didn't want to leave Arthur's crew. He insisted that the Englishman would be lost without him, and Antonio didn't have any reason to doubt that. He was aware that, just like himself, the Englishman needed someone smart and patient by his side. Antonio had Francis; Arthur had Gilbert. It was better to remain that way.

They got themselves something to drink and sat together at a table in a corner, far from the noise. It was easier to talk if they could actually hear what they were saying.

" _So, Arthur, do you know anything of Alistair?_ " Antonio asked, taking a sip from his drink.

" _Same old, same old_ ," Arthur shrugged. " _We visited him… three months ago?_ " he said, looking at Gilbert for confirmation. He gave him a thumbs-up as he downed an entire beer in one sitting. " _He asked about you, actually._ "

" _Really? What did he say?_ "

" _He wanted to know why you're being such an ungrateful brat and won't go visit him_."

Antonio snorted. " _He knows I don't want to leave the Mediterranean. Next time you see him, tell him to get that stick off his ass._ "

Francis chuckled; Arthur rolled his eyes; Gilbert stood up to go get another beer.

~{x}~{§}~{x}~

They chatted for hours. About them, their lives, how they'd been since they had last met. No loots, no boardings, no treasures; nothing related to piracy. Right then, they weren't two captains and their first-mates — just four friends catching up.

Antonio told Arthur that it had been such a dirty move to get rid of his coat and any other visible clothes to take him by surprise; Arthur laughed and replied that everything was valid at war. Like most of the times they had an argument, Francis agreed with Antonio and Gilbert sided up with Arthur, until they were eventually forced to change the topic.

After a few hours, Arthur excused himself, claiming that beating Antonio up had left him exhausted. This, of course, prompted the others to mock him, since in fact it had been him the one who had been beaten up. Arthur, not in the mood for their cruel jokes, elegantly gave them the middle finger before going up to his room.

Soon after, it was Francis who left, his excuse being that he couldn't stand anymore how dirty his hair was and that he had been craving for a bath since they had arrived. Gilbert, already a bit too drunk, laughed and called him sissy; Francis just shrugged, not offended at all, and walked away.

" _Hey, Toni_ ," Gilbert blurted out once they were alone. " _You haven't told us how you are_."

Antonio raised an eyebrow. " _Yes I have_."

" _Nu-uh_." Gilbert dragged his chair right next to Antonio's and threw an arm around his shoulders, pulling him even closer. " _Are you still having nightmares?_ "

The Spaniard sighed and sipped his drink. "Yes," he finally admitted quietly. " _But Francis is very good at helping me. You don't have to worry_."

" _Dude,_ " Gilbert said, his dark-red eyes opening wide, " _that's so fucked up_."

" _Thanks for the drunken honesty, Gil_."

" _I mean, how long has it been? Fifteen years?_ "

" _Fourteen_."

" _Still a fucking lot_ ," he stated. Then he said something else, making Antonio smile.

" _I don't speak German, Gil_."

" _Well, I don't speak Spanish_."

" _Which is why I'm using English, a language both you and I are fluent in, to talk to you. Crazy, eh?_ "

Gilbert blinked slowly, as if he were trying to follow Antonio's train of thought and was failing miserably. " _You know what?_ " he said after a while. " _I think I'm going to start a fight with someone_ ," he calmly said, standing up (and almost falling down).

~{x}~{§}~{x}~

Arthur was staring out the window when he heard the door to his room opening and closing quietly. He turned to see Antonio standing next to it, a calm expression on his face. Unlike throughout the entire evening, he wasn't wearing his red coat — in fact, he just wore a shirt, trousers and boots.

"I was starting to think you weren't going to come," Arthur said.

"Yeah, well, I was busy trying to stop your first-mate from picking fights with strangers. And then I had to drag him all the way to his room. It was harder than I expected, putting him to sleep."

The English captain laughed softly. "He overdid it again, didn't he?"

Antonio nodded and walked towards him, although he stopped in the middle of the room. "Did you actually think I wasn't going to come?"

"I don't know," Arthur shrugged. "It's been a while." He took a few tentative steps towards him, and yelped, surprised, when Antonio closed the distance between them and wrapped his arms around his waist, pushing his body against him. His grip was strong, almost possessive.

"So?" Antonio whispered over his lips. "I won the brawl; I want my reward."

" _You already had it_ ," Arthur replied, accidentally slipping back into his mother tongue. He silently blamed it on Antonio's proximity, and on the arousing way in which he was rubbing against him.

"Free drinks?" Antonio chuckled. "That's the boring part."

Without warning, he grabbed Arthur's hair and pulled backwards. The Englishman hissed in pain, but soon sighed when he felt Antonio's lips on his neck. Somehow, he still gathered the strength to say " _Antonio, you asshole, if you leave any visible marks, I'm going to murder you_ " and actually make it sound like a threat.

Antonio, however, seemed to find it funny, for he chuckled again. "I thought the deal was that the winner could do whatever he wanted," he said teasingly against Arthur's neck. Still, he eased the other's fears and pulled away, only to press his forehead to Arthur's. "You don't trust me?" he asked, faking a pout, staring straight into a pair of bright green eyes.

Arthur sighed. "Of course I—"

Before he could end the sentence, Antonio closed the gap and kissed him furiously, possessively. Taken by surprise, Arthur gasped, but soon was kissing him back, his arms wrapping around Antonio's neck, his fingers playing with his hair, pulling it loose.

He would never understand why or how Antonio made him lose control so easily.

Arthur didn't protest when Antonio practically ripped his shirt off him; didn't resist when he was pushed onto the bed; didn't put up a fight when his wrists were bound together and tied to the bed.

For the rest of the night, he was Antonio's.

* * *

 _AN/ I got the name for the inn at a webpage that generates random names for basically anything you can think of. I just wanted to share some of the other names I got because they're hilarious:  
_ The International Unicorns, The Threatening Melon Bar, The Careful Nutmeg, The Mixed Pudding, The Rainy Pudding Bar, The Supreme Ukelele Tabern, The Ruthless Clams Pub, The Impolite Hyena Tavern, The Pathetic Zebra _and_ The French Duck Inn  
 _Aren't they wonderful? XD Anyway, hope you liked the chapter. Review? :3_


	4. Chapter IV

_AN/ Heeey it's been a while! So first I was binge-watching_ One Piece _, which meant I hardly had time to write; and then I got writer's block. :'D But I got over it and now you have a brand new chapter to enjoy! (Also the longest so far, I think.) Before it starts, a, um, warning? Nah, basically let you know that the characters' ages are nuts. Like,_ _they have the age they need for the sake of the story. Just so you're aware. (If you want and kindly request it, I'll start the next chapter with a quick review of the characters' ages.) And that's it; hope you like the chapter!_

* * *

 **TIGHT ROPE**

 **Chapter IV**

"Your neck is sunburnt."

Arthur groaned. He was leaning back against Antonio's broad chest, his friend reclined against a pile of pillows and holding him tightly against himself, and he was almost half-asleep when Antonio had spoken.

"Is it?" he mumbled, yawning.

Antonio hummed in confirmation and kissed a spot in Arthur's nape. "Not too badly, though. It's pinkish." He slid his thumb against the coloured skin, watching in fascination how it turned white for a few seconds. "It's a bit funny, don't you think?" he said after a while, chuckling. "A pirate that gets sunburnt?" he whispered into Arthur's ear, teasingly.

"Go to hell," Arthur grunted. "There's a reason why Gil and I will rather stay around the British Isles than in the Mediterranean."

"If it makes you feel better, I quite like your fair skin," Antonio laughed lightly, kissing Arthur's freckled cheek.

Arthur sighed and pressed back against Antonio, fitting his head in the crook of his neck. He wasn't in the mood for Antonio's games, but he didn't mind being held like that a little longer.

It was always Antonio who initiated the cuddling. Once he was done with Arthur (or Arthur was done with him, whichever happened), he'd wrap his arms around the other's body and hug him tight against himself, sometimes placing soft kisses wherever his lips reached. Arthur sometimes wondered if he behaved like that because it was him he was with, or simply because he just liked to cuddle after sex.

The thought always made him smile. Who would ever think that the infamous, feared pirate captain Antonio Carriedo was _a_ _cuddler_?

Arthur was aware that Antonio had many faces, and he knew not many people had witnessed the one he got to enjoy. He also knew everyone would be surprised by how caring Antonio actually was. Sure, he liked being in control and everything had to be done his way, but he never did anything Arthur didn't like, always made sure both of them were enjoying it, worried about him once it was over.

All things considered, Antonio was Arthur's favourite lover.

He often wondered if the feeling was reciprocated.

"How long are you staying?" he asked after a few minutes of silence.

"Three nights," Antonio answered. His thumb started to trace circles on Arthur's chest, tickling him. "You?"

"I'll set sail one day after you." He twisted his neck so he could look at Antonio's face. "Will you come again tomorrow?"

"Maybe."

"And the day after?"

Antonio smiled and pecked his lips. "Definitely."

~{x}~{§}~{x}~

His stomach growled again and Lovino threw his head back, groaning. The last time they had brought him any food had been the previous day, right before they docked; he wasn't sure how long it had been since then, but he was certain it was already well past noon. He was hungry, thirsty, and very pissed off. Had all the pirates really forgotten about him? Had he really survived a boarding by one of the deadliest pirate crews of the Mediterranean only to starve to death in a dirty brig?

" _God-fucking-dammit_ ," he cursed in Italian, curling up when his stomach protested again, resting his head on his knees. " _Fucking, stupid pirates; assholes, sons-of-a-whore, curse them all to hell and back_."

"I didn't understand a single word, yet I feel personally attacked."

Lovino's head shot up at the already familiar voice. Raúl was standing at the end of the stairs, an amused expression on his face and, more important than anything, a tray with food on his hand.

"I'm hungry," Lovino growled.

"Yes, I figured you'd be. That's why I'm here," Raúl smiled, unfazed by Lovino's bad mood, and finally walked to his side and left the tray by his side. "Take it easy," he chuckled when the boy started to devour everything, not even caring that he was still in shackles. "Here, I also got you some water," he said, dropping a small barrel next to him, "and you can have some of my rum if you want," he added, pulling a small bottle from his pocket.

"I've never tried rum," Lovino said in between chews. "Is it too strong? I've only drunk wine."

Raúl snorted and mumbled "rich Italians", thankfully low enough for Lovino to hear. "It is definitely stronger than wine," he answered. "Want to give it a try?"

Lovino hesitated for a moment before shrugging. "Why not?" He put the tray aside and grabbed the bottle Raúl offered him. He took it to his lips and furrowed his nose when the strong smell reached him. For a moment, he considered giving it back, but then he decided he'd rather go ahead with it than standing the pirate's mocking comments, and without hesitation took a long, deep chug.

" _Motherf_ —!" he cursed in Italian at the burning in his throat, interrupted by a violent coughing fit so loud he barely heard Raúl's laughter.

"Okay, that's enough," the pirate said, taking back the bottle and taking a sip himself. Then he sat back on the stairs and watched, amused, how Lovino fought to catch his breath. "First chug of rum — now you're a little more of a man," he cheered, raising the bottle as if for a toast.

"I already was a man," Lovino protested once he recovered, discretely drying his eyes with his sleeve, and immediately after focusing on the food again.

"Really?"

"Yes."

Raúl tilted his head to the side. "How old are you?" he inquired, realizing for the first time that he hadn't asked before.

"Seventeen."

"Huh." Younger than he had expected. "Are you married?"

Lovino shook his head. "I could be. It's not like I didn't have offers." He shrugged. "But my father wants to wait; he hopes that sometime soon he will arrange a marriage into a noble family. Why do you ask?" he frowned.

"I don't know. I thought you were older; had kind of assumed you were married. I got curious."

"Well, no I'm not," Lovino confirmed. "… I suppose you aren't, either," he added after a pause.

Raúl snorted. "God, no. No one in the ship is. Our profession isn't the best for building a family," he chuckled. "It's not like we want to, either. We all love it here—wouldn't trade it for anything!"

Lovino bit his lip and tried to focus on what was left of the food. The pirate's words had stirred something inside him.

As a child, he had loved belonging to a wealthy family. He had had maids and butlers always by his side, fixing every mistake he made; there was no problem his family's money couldn't fix; he got to enjoy the best meals Italy had to offer, in a big mansion that kept him warm during winter and cool during summer. But as he grew up, he had realized that not everything was as wonderful as it seemed.

He despised the idea of an arranged marriage. He always had. Ever since his father had first brought it up (around four years ago), Lovino hadn't stopped fighting him about it. Eventually he came to accept that he would have no choice in the matter, but he still had made sure to let everyone know how much he disagreed with it.

And that wasn't the only problem he had encountered. He had never had any _real_ friends, just other kids who swam in money that only hanged around him because they were bound to be business partners in the future. He had never been allowed to join _the commoners_ during festivals, no matter how much he wanted to dance and drink with them, get a taste of the fun they seemed to have. The rules of etiquette had been shackles; different from the ones that held him captive now, but just as real.

So when their new business partner in Spain had demanded that a Vargas travelled with the cargo, he had taken the chance. Convincing his father to let him go had been relatively easy (a stern "I need to prove myself as a worthy merchant" speech had made the trick); his mother had been tougher. But both had agreed, in the end, and never before had he felt freer than when the ship had left Naples. Those days sailing the sea had been the best in a very long time… until the pirates had attacked.

Lovino hated pirates. They were despicable men who plundered, pillaged, robbed and raped, with no regard for laws of any kind. The crew he had travelled (lived) with for weeks had been wiped out just so those men could afford a couple of days of women and alcohol. They destroyed lives and businesses with no shame whatsoever.

And yet, when Raúl shared anecdotes with him, with a clear, joyous voice and a lively glint in his dark eyes, Lovino couldn't help but envy them.

They were free in a way Lovino could never aspire to be.

It made him wonder if anyone was ever truly happy with what they had.

"Hey, Lovino," Raúl called, pulling him out of his thoughts and back into reality.

"What?" he mumbled. The pirate was staring at him in curiosity, surely wondering what had kept him silent and downcast for so long, and for a moment Lovino feared that he would pry.

But then Raúl leant forward and his lips twisted into an amused smile when he asked: "Have you ever been with a woman?"

Startled, Lovino dropped the tray (already empty, thankfully) and opened and closed his mouth as he tried to come up with a witty answer.

"I'll take that as a no," Raúl laughed. "I've never seen anyone blush like that!"

"I—You—Oh, shut up," Lovino finally growled, crossing his arms and looking away, embarrassed.

He wasn't prepared for when the pirate, turning his smile into a mischievous smirk, said: "If you want to call yourself a man, we'll have to remedy that, don't you think?"

~{x}~{§}~{x}~

"Are you sure this is a good idea?" Lovino asked yet another time. "If they discover us—"

"They won't," Raúl interrupted. "Look around: everyone's too busy having fun to bother looking twice at a couple of passers-by."

Lovino's amber gaze danced around himself in paranoia, in fear that some other member of Carriedo's crew would recognize him. However, after a while he had to admit that Raúl was right: nobody paid them any mind. The pirate, clearly in his element, guided him through the streets of Ibiza with confidence, as if he didn't care one bit about the consequences of freeing a prisoner, and something in that attitude made Lovino believe that they were safe.

Still, he couldn't help worrying. "We'll be in trouble if someone finds out," he said through gritted teeth.

"I'll be in way more trouble than you, so stop worrying. Besides, to find out you're gone, someone would actually have to go back to the ship… which, believe me, won't happen," he chuckled. "And the people on the streets will only think something's odd if you run away from me — which you aren't going to do," he concluded.

"Oh yeah? And how do you know that?"

"Because," Raúl said, throwing his arm around Lovino's shoulders and pulling him close, "for better or for worse, I'm your only ally on this island. And you're not stupid," he smiled, friendly patting his chest.

No, Lovino wasn't stupid. The thought of running away had not once crossed his mind: in a town like Ibiza, it would be his doom, he knew it. He may manage to escape _El Diablo_ , but what then? He'd be alone in a lawless city. The chances of landing somewhere worse were high; that, if he did manage to outrun Raúl, which he doubted. And he didn't want to anger the man in charge of feeding him ( _his only ally_ , as the pirate himself had said).

Maybe, just maybe, Lovino kept objecting because he was nervous. Because when he had agreed to Raúl's proposition, he had believed the pirate was joking. And he still wasn't sure he wanted to do it. _I could still ask him to take me back to the ship_ , he thought, biting his lip. _He'll probably make fun of me, though…_

Too lost in his internal dilemma, he barely noticed when Raúl announced: "Here we are!" What brought him back to reality was being pushed through a door into a small, poorly illuminated hall, facing a counter behind which a tough-looking woman sat.

"Here again?" she said to Raúl, her lips twisting into a smirk. "Didn't you have enough last night?"

"I don't think anyone can have enough of your girls, Eli," Raúl replied, a charming smile on his face. "But I'm not here for me," he quickly added, pushing Lovino forward as if that explained everything.

"That's Miss Elizabeta to you," she corrected before leaning over the counter to study the boy. She had long, brown hair and olive eyes; she was very pretty, but — Lovino noticed many wrinkles — a bit too old to still work as a prostitute. Managing the brothel was probably her way of remaining in the business, and Lovino instantly knew she was good at it. He had met few businessmen with such determination in their eyes. "What's with this pretty boy of yours?" she asked. Her words were decorated with a foreign accent, but Lovino couldn't place it. "You know I don't employ men."

"It's not that," Raúl burst out laughing. "We need to make a man out of him — you know what I mean." He leant closer to her, as if to tell her a secret. "Maybe get him one of the nice girls, yes?"

"Don't tell me how to do my job," Elizabeta replied, pushing his face away. Then turned her attention back to Lovino, scanning him as she tapped her chin, pondering. After what felt like an eternity, she finally turned and yelled: "EMMA!"

After a few seconds, the door behind her opened and a blonde head peeked out from behind it. "No need to scream, Eli, darling, I'm not deaf," the woman said sweetly. "What is it?"

"I own the place; I'll scream as I please," Elizabeta stated. Then pointed at Lovino and said: "Customer."

"Oh?" She walked out the room and around the counter, and Lovino blushed and looked away when he saw her almost see-through clothes that left little to the imagination. Emma noticed and smiled at him, amused. "How long?" she asked.

"Half an hour," Raúl answered. "It's his first time."

Emma raised an eyebrow and smirked. "Really? A pretty boy like him?" she chuckled. Then she moved closer to Lovino, her voice a soft purr when she whispered into his ear: "Let's take this upstairs to somewhere more private, shall we?"

Blushing even redder, Lovino could only nod and follow Emma as she took his hand in hers and guided him to the stairs. Before going up, he gazed back at the hall: Elizabeta was snickering; Raúl gave him a tumbs-up. It didn't ease his nerves.

He didn't say a word as they walked through the brothel, all his energy focused on not collapsing and ignoring the moans, screams and creaking beds he could hear behind closed doors. It felt like an eternity until they finally stepped inside a small, empty room.

"Welcome to the love chamber," Emma said, closing the door behind them and sitting on the bed, the only piece of furniture in the room. "A bit unpleasant to the eye, I'm afraid."

Lovino swallowed. "N-No, it's fine," he managed to say, although he refused to meet her eyes.

"So you _can_ talk," Emma snickered. "You really are nervous, aren't you?" She eyed Lovino with something akin to pity. It wasn't hard to see that the boy was young ( _He could be my son_ , she realized), inexperienced, and scared. "Come here," she said, patting the empty space on the bed next to her. Lovino obeyed slowly and hesitantly. "Do you really want to do this?"

"I—um…" he stuttered. Truth be told, he didn't know what he wanted. He was the heir of a wealthy ( _very_ wealthy) family, and the prospect of sleeping with a prostitute in the Mediterranean haven of vulgar delinquents didn't sound like the most appealing setting for his first time. If his father ever found out, he'd be disowned on the spot. Then again… He _had_ agreed to Raúl's proposition, and he _had_ followed him all the way there. Shily, he looked up at Emma and, for the first time, really _looked_ at her. He took in her blonde shoulder-length hair, her sparkly green eyes, her red lips and rosy cheeks, her generous curves. "You're very pretty," he blurted out before he could refrain himself.

Taken by surprise, Emma's eyebrows shot up and she remained silent for a couple of stunned seconds. Then she let out an amused—yet still flattered—laugh. "Thanks!" she smiled, charming. "You're very handsome yourself. But…" she moved closer, "you haven't answered my question."

Lovino barely hesitated for a couple of seconds before gathering up all his courage, throwing all his doubts out the window, and kissing her.

~{x}~{§}~{x}~

A knock on the door startled Antonio awake. He groaned when he realized he had fallen asleep in the tub; the water was cold and his neck was stiff. _This is what happens when you don't get enough sleep at night_ , he mentally scolded himself. Then again, it was hardly his fault — no one could resist Arthur's green eyes when they darkened and silently asked for a second round. Or a third.

There was another knock, this time followed by a voice: "Antonio? Are you there?"

It was Francis. Antonio sighed and yelled a 'yes' as he left the tub and started to look for a towel.

"Great," Francis said, entering the room. "I wanted to—fuck, Antonio, you could have told me to wait," he protested when he saw his captain walking around the room stark naked.

"Oh, come on," Antonio waved his hand. "It's not like it's the first time you've seen me naked."

"For some reason, it's only appealing when I'm the one who has undressed you," he replied casually. "You were with Arthur last night, right?"

Antonio, who had already found a towel, stopped drying himself for a moment to glance at Francis. "Yes," he answered. "Are we too obvious?"

"No, what you are is _loud_ ," Francis corrected, rolling his eyes when Antonio smiled proudly at him. He grabbed a clean shirt that laid on the bed and tossed it at him. "Do me a favour and get dressed."

"Alright, alright. Did you come just to mother me?"

"Actually, no. I came to tell you about the letters to the Vargas family."

"What about them?"

"Well, I've only found one person who was willing to deliver a letter, and I have my doubts he'll finish the job."

"So?" Antonio shrugged, nonchalant. "You wrote three copies for a reason. We can send the other two from another port."

"I guess you're right," Francis sighed. He hadn't expected Antonio to care much about the letters, but he had decided to inform him anyway. At least he hadn't suggested that they got rid of Lovino and all the trouble it was keeping him with them.

"Of course I am," Antonio smiled, smug. He sat on the bed, turning his back on Francis, and began putting on his boots. "It's part of my job as captain — I'm _always_ right."

"You wish," Francis replied, climbing on the bed behind him. "If it weren't for me, you would have died years ago."

"That's not— _auch_!" Antonio protested. Francis had taken a hairbrush out of nowhere and had started to comb his very tangled and knotted mane. "What the f— _agh_! Francis! Stop it!"

"There's no way I'm letting you go out with this hair. You have a reputation, _cheri_."

"I swear, Francis, you're the only— _ay_!—person in this goddamn island who gives a shit about that."

"And, lucky you, I also happen to be your best friend. Hey—stop squirming! Antonio!"

Ten minutes of fighting and bickering later, Francis finally deemed Antonio's hair to be decent enough to go outside. The captain, who hadn't stopped complaining throughout the whole process, muttered what Francis assumed to be curses directed to his mother as he threw on his coat.

"You'll pay for this," he warned, his index finger pointing at him in threat.

"Oh, I'll be waiting," Francis smiled. He knew Antonio would never lay a single finger on him. It wasn't the first time he had received death threats; nor would it be the last. "Are you going where I think you're going?" he asked, changing the topic as he followed Antonio out of the room.

"Probably, yes."

"I'll go with you. Shall we fetch Gilbert?"

"Oh yes."

~{x}~{§}~{x}~

"You hadn't mentioned you were Italian."

Lovino blushed madly as he rebuttoned his shirt. At some point, too lost in the pleasure, he had forgotten how to speak Spanish and had ended up whispering fervently in Italian. Emma seemed to have found that incredibly amusing.

"Hm," he muttered, too embarrassed to form a proper sentence.

Sex had been easy. Emma, obviously much more experienced and skilled than him, had guided him throughout the entire act, and Lovino had liked it. _God_ had he liked it.

But then, once it was over, all that was left was a cocktail of emotions he didn't know how to handle. He felt equally euphoric and ashamed; he was just as calm as he was nervous. He didn't even know if he regretted having come or not.

"Hey, big boy!" Emma called.

Lovino flinched, startled, and realized he had already finished dressing but had been lost in thought for a while. He glanced at the prostitute, who was standing next to the open door.

"I'd love to have you here longer, darling, but you have to pay for that," she said, a playful tone in her voice.

"Uh—Sorry," Lovino mumbled. He rushed to the door and walked out, trying to ignore his burning cheeks.

Before he could run away, Emma threw an arm around his shoulders and forced him to walk at her (slow) pace. "That wasn't bad, you know?" she smiled. "Not bad at all. Am I going to see you again?"

Lovino was certain that his cheeks were glowing red. "N-No, I don't think so," he stuttered. _I so hope I never set foot on this island ever again_. "B-But I too think it was… nice."

Emma giggled and kissed his cheek. "Well, at least we both get a good memory."

Lovino managed a shy smile.

And then, just when they were starting to walk down the stairs, he was suddenly yanked away from Emma and smacked against the wall. He gasped when all the air was knocked out of him; before he could complain, a hand was pressed to his mouth to shut him up.

"Keep quiet," Raúl whispered. He looked nervous.

Frowning, Lovino threw his hands up in exasperation, but complied and didn't say a word. Raúl would explain soon, or so he hoped.

Emma raised an eyebrow and stared funnily at them for a couple of seconds before shrugging, deeming it wasn't her business, and continuing on her own.

Lovino heard her steps walking down the stairs, heard how they stopped abruptly right before they reached the end; and then heard Emma's excited, happy scream:

"Antonio!"

~{x}~{§}~{x}~

After picking up a much less hungover than Antonio expected Gilbert from his room, the captain and the two first-mates had left _The Black Snake_ and walked straight to the brothel. There were many in Ibiza, but that one had always been, by far, their favourite.

Antonio had barely been fifteen the first time Alistair had brought him there, and since then he hadn't bothered visiting another place. He wasn't sure about his friends, but he knew the three of them visited it for the same reason: there was an irreplaceable person there.

Elizabeta's eyes gleamed when they walked in. "Antonio Carriedo! It's been a while," she said in greeting. "Emma is busy right now, but she'll finish soon. Ah, and look who's here, as well — Francis Bonnefoy himself!"

Francis smiled, charming. "My dear Eliza, of course I'm here! I tend to be where my idiotic captain is. Is Jeanne available?" he asked before Antonio could get offended.

"Yes." She pointed upstairs. "Usual room."

" _Wonderful_!" he exclaimed in French. "See you later, guys," he chirped before rushing upstairs.

Finally, Elizabeta turned her attention to the last one. "Beilschmidt," she said, narrowing her eyes. "You don't know when to give up, do you?"

" _Uh_ — _Toni, what did she say_?" he asked, confused.

Amused, Antonio translated.

Gilbert had been trying to seduce Elizabeta for years, but the strong-headed woman never seemed to give in to his very lame attempts at seduction. Francis and Antonio had long ago lost count of the times Gilbert had been rejected; according to Arthur, it was easily over a hundred.

Still, Antonio didn't believe that they had never ever slept together. Gilbert was stubborn, yes, but to the point of chasing the same (seemingly uninterested) woman for _years_? Antonio doubted it. Also, he knew his friend would brag about it the moment he made it to Elizabeta's bed, but he knew as well that Gilbert would keep his big mouth shut if asked to. Even more if it was Elizabeta herself who asked.

He had never understood Gilbert's fixation with Elizabeta, but his albino friend was probably the most stubborn person he knew (excluding himself). He refused any criticism ("Isn't she a bit old for you?" "Emma is older than you, too." "Yes, by four years—not fourteen!") and always claimed that, for better or for worse, they were sworn to each other.

Maybe, he mused, it was futile to try and understand those two.

Perhaps it was a bit naïve to apply the rules of regular people to Gilbert Beilschmidt.

Antonio started to pace around the hall. A few girls walked by, but none talked to him. After his first few visits, they had learnt that he was only interested in Emma, and had stopped offering themselves. Antonio was glad for that.

Bored, he tried to eavesdrop Gilbert and Elizabeta's conversation. They were speaking German, which he didn't understand, but maybe he could read the tones of their voices.

Thankfully, it wasn't long before he heard a voice he knew very well calling his name:

"Antonio!"

And the next moment, Emma had run to his side and was hugging him tightly. He laughed and returned the hug, lifting her off the ground. She yelped and demanded, between fits of laughter, to be put back on her feet.

"Oh, I'd missed you," she purred, pulling apart so she could look at his face. "Let's go upstairs?"

"Of course," he smiled. "Hey, Eli? I'm going to borrow Emma for an hour," he said to the manager, interrupting her chat with her admirer.

"And a half," added Emma, cheeky.

"An hour and a half," Antonio corrected. A pause, and then: "Maybe two."

Elizabeta raised an eyebrow and looked at the couple: Emma was standing on her tiptoes so she could rest her face against Antonio's, both her arms around his neck, and he was holding her against him by the waist. "Are you sure?" she asked. "You just finished with another client."

"So? I don't mind, and neither does he," Emma relpied. "You don't mind, do you?"

"I don't mind."

"He doesn't mind."

The manager shrugged. "Okay, then. As you please." And she resumed her conversation with Gilbert.

With a cat-like smile on her face, Emma grabbed Antonio's hand and, without a word, guided him upstairs.

* * *

 _AN/ I don't know why, but I'm afraid Francis steals the show in every chapter. He's such a mother~ Anyway, thanks for reading. Review? :3_


	5. Chapter V

_AN/ So, um, maybe the first scene of this chapter would fit better as the last scene of last chapter. I planned it to be that way. But by the time I reached the end of the actual last scene of last chapter, honestly, I was so sick of it that I didn't want to write a whole other scene. I might edit it sometime in the future. (But I don't regret confusing the shit out of some of you with the way last chapter ended. :P)  
A guest reviewer (thanks for such a kind review, btw n_n) asked for ages and sexual orientations of the characters. They're listed in the Author's Note at the end of the chapter.  
And that's it; let's start the chapter!_

* * *

 **TIGHT ROPE**

 **Chapter V**

When Emma closed and locked the door behind them, it felt as if they had isolated themselves from the rest of the world. She exhaled heavily, as if she were getting rid of a year's worth of stress, and smiled at Antonio.

"I'm so glad you're here," she said, going for a hug.

The pirate smiled fondly and embraced her. "Did you miss me that much?" he mumbled against her hair.

"Of course I did. You're my favourite client."

"Because I don't sleep with you?"

"Among others." She pulled apart and jumped on the bed, sitting against the wall, and patted the spot next to her. Without losing a second, Antonio kicked out his boots and sat by her side. "I like that I can talk to you," she sighed, leaning until her head rested on his shoulder.

Antonio smiled and kissed her hair. "The job still sucks, huh?"

"Not as much as it could… but yeah, it's not the best."

"Why don't you leave?"

"I can't."

"Join my crew."

"Antonio…" she sighed. "I can't."

She always replied that when Antonio offered her a place in his ship.

He took her hand with his and took it to his lips to press a soft, chaste kiss to her fingers. "My men won't do anything to you if they think you're sleeping with me," he said.

"And who _will_ sleep with me when I get needy?"

"I'm certain Francis won't mind taking the job."

"Ah, that's tempting. Jeanne always speaks wonders of him."

She was just joking, Antonio knew it. They had been having the same conversation for the last two years, ever since he had become captain of his own ship; sometimes, he could even predict her next words. And still, he always insisted. There was always hope that one day she might agree.

"You'd get to leave this place."

There was a sad smile on Emma's face when she looked up at him. "I can't just leave Eli and the other girls, Antonio," she muttered. "But thanks for the offering."

Those words always ended the discussion.

"Was Raúl your previous customer?" Antonio asked, changing the topic. They had stumbled upon him as they went to Emma's room; he had nervously greeted him in the middle of the corridor, where he was leaning against a window in a posture that was everything but casual. At that moment, Antonio hadn't thought much of it, the only thought in his mind being the need to be alone with Emma; but now his attitude seemed strange. Probably what he'd expect to see in a man who thinks he's just shagged his captain's favourite prostitute.

"No, it was a friend of his," Emma answered. "I didn't catch his name. He wasn't from your crew, I think, unless you've recruited more people recently."

"I haven't."

"Good. The poor guy has been saved from your rage."

"If I went on a killing rampage every time you sleep with a guy who's not me, the Mediterranean would be decimated," he teased.

Emma never took the bait, too used to dealing with men. "What can I say? I'm good at what I do. Besides, I could probably say the same about you."

Antonio snorted. "I don't sleep around as much as you think I do."

"Really?"

"I don't like it if there isn't some feeling involved."

"Are you telling me that you only sleep with Francis and Arthur?"

"Okay, for starters," Antonio raised a finger in a lecturing manner, "I haven't slept with Francis in years. And I do have other lovers in other places; I just don't see them often. But, if it makes you happier," he poked her nose, "you're my only female cover."

Emma smiled. "What an honour." She closed her eyes and sighed, content. After a while, however, she couldn't hold it in any longer and asked what had been in her mind since she had met Antonio before: "And Santiago?"

Antonio's entire body tensed. "What about him?" he said, his voice significantly colder.

"Are you still after him?"

"Yes." He frowned. "Why do you ask?"

Emma's eyes opened to stare at him with compassion. "I know he's a monster, and I know he deserves whatever torment you plan to make him go through when you catch him," she said softly. "People kill for much less than what he did to you. But, Antonio," she took a hand to his cheek, both to stroke it and to make him look her in the eye, "you can't just let revenge consume you like this."

"It's what's kept me alive so far." He raised his hand and tucked a loose strand of hair behind Emma's ear. "I won't be able to rest until I've killed him."

Emma didn't say anything for a while; she just stared intently into his eyes, green against green. "You know," she finally muttered, a sad smile on her face, "you haven't changed a bit. You're just as scared and lost as when you were fifteen."

Antonio looked away.

~{x}~{§}~{x}~

 _"Come on, Antonio. We've docked."_

 _"Where are we?"_

 _"Ibiza. Come on, you're gonna love this place."_

 _…_

 _"What about her? She's very pretty, eh?"_

 _"I guess…"_

 _"Hey, blondie! Yes, you! Come here, sweetheart. What's your name?"_

 _"Emma, sir."_

 _"Emma. That's very pretty. This is Antonio; treat him nicely!"_

 _…_

 _"H-Hey, do you really want to do this?"_

 _"I_ — _I don't_ — _"_

 _"We don't have to if you don't want to."_

 _"I-I don't_ — _don't want t-to."_

 _"Okay, it's fine. Sssh Antonio, stop crying. Everything's alright."_

 _…_

 _"So? You've been very quiet. How did it go?"_

 _"… I didn't sleep with her."_

 _"What? Why?"_

 _"…"_

 _"Antonio_ — _"_

 _"I'm sorry, Captain Kirkland. You paid for it."_

 _"I don't care about that, but there's something you should be aware of."_

 _…_

 _"No one will judge you if you like men. They will judge you if you don't like women."_

~{x}~{§}~{x}~

Lovino's heart was still beating madly when he and Raúl finally made it back to _El Diablo_.

Back in the brothel, when he had heard Emma calling Carriedo's name, his blood had frozen in his veins. The mere thought of the pirate captain catching them made him shiver — he didn't want to imagine the punishment his twisted mind would come up with. Thankfully, Raúl, though just as scared at him, had reacted quick and saved them both. He had urged him to go back to the upper floor, where he planned to escape through the window (it wasn't too high, and it was easy to climb down). The pirate hadn't had time to go down himself before Antonio and Emma walked by, but Lovino hadn't been seen, and that's all that mattered.

"Fuck, that was close," Raúl breathed out as they walked down to the brig. "I was seriously scared for a moment there."

Lovino didn't answer. He sat heavily on his usual spot, the shackles hanging next to him, and for the next few minutes he focused on breathing long and deeply, until his heartbeat calmed down. "Raúl," he said then, "look me in the eye and tell me you didn't know that was Carriedo's favourite brothel."

"I knew it was his favourite brothel," he admitted. "It's a lot of people's favourite brothel. What I didn't know is that Emma is favourite prostitute. Sorry about that."

Lovino groaned, throwing his head back. "And it didn't occur to you that there existed the possibility of that bastard visiting his favourite brothel? _Not even once_?!"

Raúl shrugged. "I honestly thought Kirkland would keep him busy longer."

"Kirkland?" Lovino frowned and looked at him, confusion clear in his eyes. "Alistair Kirkland? I thought he died a couple of years ago."

"Alistair Kirkland, dead?" Raúl snorted, amused. "A stupid fake rumour made up to appease merchants and travellers. No, he's not dead — he's retired and living the good life, probably in a mansion somewhere in Scotland."

"Then…?"

"I'm talking about Arthur Kirkland, his younger brother. I wouldn't be surprised if you've never heard of him; he rarely acts in the Mediterranean."

Lovino wanted to keep asking, but he went mute when he heard steps walking down the stairs. Raúl, who had heard them too, was by his side in the blink of an eye and shackled him before retreating to the opposite wall.

Seconds later, Francis entered the brig.

"Ah, both of you are here," he smiled. "How's it going?"

"Boring," Lovino answered, a slight trembling in his voice that he hoped didn't give away his nervousness.

"Is that so?" His eyes flickered to Raúl and back. "I thought his company would entertain you a little."

"There's only so much one can do in here," Raúl intervened, forcing a carefree smile. "But I do my best."

"Do you?" Francis' smile sharpened and his blue eyes gleamed dangerously. "Then tell me, why does your definition of 'best' include freeing a prisoner and taking him to a brothel?" In a quick, smooth movement, his cutlass was out of its sheath and its edge caressed Raúl's neck. "Care to explain why you thought it'd be a good idea?" He advanced as he talked, making his subordinate walk backwards until his back hit the wall. He was no longer smiling — his features now were stern, only his eyes betraying the rage he was trying to control. "I had to jilt the sweetest girl in this fucking island because of this, so you had better have a good excuse."

"I-I—" Raúl stuttered, taken aback by Francis' sudden—yet justified—hostility.

Lovino had never seen him so scared.

Then again, he had never seen Francis so scary.

He would have never imagined, not even in his darkest dreams, that the kind-hearted Frenchman had such a face. He wasn't possessed by the same murderous insanity that he had witnessed in Carriedo, but the eerie calm with which Francis moved and talked was almost as terrifying.

For a moment, Lovino wondered if it meant that Antonio had a nice face to him.

"I-I got carried away," Raúl finally managed to utter.

"Oh, you got carried away," Francis snarled. "What if _I_ get carried away now and slit your throat?" He moved closer, completely trapping Raúl against the wall. "I'm giving you a chance to explain yourself," he hissed. "Don't waste it."

Raúl gulped and took a deep breath before telling, with a shaky voice, everything that had happened since he had brought Lovino some food earlier that day. He was downcast throughout the whole story, unable to meet Francis' piercing eyes, and Lovino couldn't blame him — he shuddered every time the Frenchman glared in his direction, and he didn't have a sharp sword pressed to his neck.

"Goddammit, you're even stupider than I thought," Francis growled when Raúl finished. "Also incredibly lucky." He pulled apart, releasing Raúl, and nodded to the stairs. "Get out," he ordered.

"Sir—"

"Get. Out."

That tone didn't leave room for argument. Raúl swallowed his words and, after a small, respectful bow, he ran up the stairs.

It took Lovino a moment to realize that he had been left alone with an angry, dangerous pirate. Timidly, he looked up. Francis had sheathed his cutlass and was leaning against the opposite wall, arms crossed before the chest and burning blue eyes stabbing him. Lovino bit his lip and looked away. He didn't know what was worse: the pirate's menacing aura or the disappointment he could read in his eyes. He felt equally scared and ashamed.

"I thought you were smarter than this," Francis broke the silence after a couple of minutes.

"I—"

"Do you have any idea of how many things could have gone wrong? You don't belong here, Lovino, and everyone who looks at you twice will know it." His gaze hardened. "Be thankful you're not currently bleeding to death in a dark alley after having been beaten and raped."

Lovino trembled, barely holding back a sob. "I-I'm sorry," he muttered. Then he cleared his throat and his voice sounded a bit stronger when he asked: "Are you going to punish Raúl?"

"It's not like he doesn't deserve it," Francis answered. But then he sighed, and he looked a bit more like his usual self. "But I won't go too hard on him. Antonio doesn't know about any of this," he added, correctly guessing Lovino's next question. "And I don't plan to tell him. You can only pray that he doesn't find out through Emma."

"Thank you."

"This isn't charity," Francis warned. "I'm trusting that you'll be smarter from now on. If you do something stupid again, Antonio will find out about everything at the same time — and you don't want that."

Lovino bit his lip and nodded. "How did _you_ find out?" he asked after a moment of hesitation.

"I was walking by Emma's door when I heard you two talking. Which reminds me," he sighed, "I have a lady to apologize to." He walked to the stairs, but then stopped, looked at Lovino, and went back. "I'll be taking these as a precaution," he said as he grabbed the keys to Lovino's shackles and slid them in his pocket. "It'll be better for the both of us."

And he winked at Lovino before leaving.

~{x}~{§}~{x}~

"I must admit," Emma sighed, "sometimes I think it's a shame you don't like women."

Antonio laughed quietly. They had ended up lying together in bed, where Emma had practically wrapped herself around him, demanding cuddles he had been happy to give, and had been talking in hushed voices for a long time now. Their two hours had expired a while ago, but neither of them cared.

"Flattered as I am, I must tell you that you wouldn't get lucky anyway," he answered, his fingers playing with Emma's soft hair.

"Well, that's disappointing. Why not?"

"For the same reason why I no longer sleep with Francis: you're like a sister to me."

Emma raised her head to look him in the eye. "Are you saying that Francis is like a sister to you?" she asked, amused.

"Actually, he's more like a mother," Antonio smiled.

"But you love him."

"God, yes," he laughed. "I don't know what I'd do without him." He made a pause. "Don't tell him I said that."

"I think you entrust me with many secrets, dear."

A knock on the door interrupted Antonio's reply. "Emma?" It was Elizabeta. "You've been in there for nearly three hours."

"So?" Emma called back. "It's not my fault that Antonio is insatiable," she smirked, winking cheekily at him. He rolled his eyes, but couldn't hide his own smile.

"It's okay, Eli, we're done," he intervened. "We'll go out in a minute."

With a sigh, they stood up from the bed. Having to go back to reality after their encounters was always the worst part. Antonio promised he would drop by again before leaving Ibiza, and Emma asked him to make his next stay a little longer.

Emma had already unlocked the door and was about to open it when Antonio stopped her.

"I almost forgot," he said. "I've got something for you." He slid a hand in his pocket and in one smooth movement pulled a golden chain out of it and hooked it around Emma's neck.

She gasped when the cold metal touched her skin, but soon forgot to complain after taking a look at the pendant: it was a golden bird, maybe a sparrow or a swallow, crafted with care and with close attention to detail. "It's beautiful," she smiled. "I don't want to know how you go it, do I?"

"Maybe not."

It wasn't the first time Antonio had gifted her with jewellery he obtained from his raids. Emma always tried to keep his presents, but necessity always ended up making her sell them to afford food for her and all the other girls. She knew Antonio didn't mind, but she still felt guilty whenever he presented her another beautiful gift.

"I'll try to keep this one," she promised.

~{x}~{§}~{x}~

It had been a full day, a full twenty-four hours, since Lovino and Raúl had gone on their stupid, stupid little adventure. The Italian hadn't seen the pirate since then; it was Francis who brought him food now (thankfully, much more often than Raúl ever had). He also hadn't seen an enraged Captain Carriedo wanting to mutilate him for having slept with his girl, which had been a relief. Still, Lovino couldn't help but worry that Antonio was only plotting the best way to give him a slow and painful death, and that at any time he'd burst into the brig and make his worst nightmares come to life. No matter how many times Francis had reassured him that he needn't worry, that Antonio didn't seem to know anything — Lovino still felt paranoid. Every time he heard footsteps walking down to the brig, he flinched in fear, and had to remind himself that it was just the kind (though sometimes scary) first-mate.

Until it wasn't.

When Antonio walked into the small brig in all his glory, Lovino silently started to pray for his own soul, certain that he wasn't going to live to see the sunlight again.

"So..." Antonio said, calmly standing in front of him, "I've got a very important question for you."

"Y-Yes?" he gulped.

Antonio didn't say anything else for a couple of minutes. He just stared intently at him, green eyes gleaming in the dark. Lovino swallowed. What did the captain have up his sleeve? Was he going to ask him about Emma? If he did, what as be the answer that would spare him? Should he admit it or deny it? Seconds ticked by, and Lovino only grew more nervous.

And then Antonio asked: "Calabrese or Abruzzo?"

Lovino's jaw dropped.

"… I'm sorry?"

"Calabrese or Abruzzo?" he repeated.

"I don't understand," Lovino said, blinking slowly.

The captain sighed. "It's a very simple question: Calabrese or Abruzzo?" He made a face. "I thought you'd know your wines."

"I-I know my wines, thank you very much," Lovino snapped out of his stupor. "What I don't understand is why you're asking me this all of a sudden."

"I'm throwing a small, private party with close friends and I wanted a good Italian wine from our last loot," Antonio smiled. For once, it wasn't a scary smile — though I _was_ a bit condescending.

"Who would have thought that a bastard like you could have friends," Lovino spat before he could contain himself. The pirate's attitude was really pissing him off.

"Huh." Antonio crossed his arms before his chest and tilted his head. "You like playing with fire, don't you?" he said, his eyes flashing to the hole in the wall, where he had jabbed a dagger in threat not so long ago. "Have you forgotten what happened the last time you called me that?" A dark shadow crossed his face, but it was so quick Lovino thought he had imagined it. "You're lucky I'm in a good mood today. For your own sake, let's not change that, yes?"

Lovino glared at him with all his might. "I'm personally fonder of Calabrese," he finally said, a bit reluctant. "It has more personality. Although depending on what you're eating, an Abruzzo might be a better option. I don't know. It's not like it's going to make much of a difference for a bunch of tasteless pirates."

"Tasteless?" Antonio snorted. "No, on the contrary—Francis is very exquisite, when he can afford it. And I, well, I do enjoy the proper wine when the occasion requires it. Like now," he smiled, charming.

"I wish the wine chokes you to death."

"That's mean," the captain said with a fake pout. "If it does happen, I'll come back as a ghost to haunt you."

"I don't think so. You'll go straight to Hell, where you belong, and you'll rot in there for eternity," Lovino spat.

"Oh no, such a terrible punishment! I must go confess my sins right now to save my immortal soul!" Antonio mocked.

Lovino frowned and glared at him. "I wouldn't take it so lightly. God will judge you when the time comes, and you'll have an eternity in Hell to regret all of this. Aren't you a Catholic?"

All the mockery and amusement left Antonio's face. "I was raised into it," he said then, slowly, "but I stopped believing a long time ago." He walked closer and crouched in front of Lovino so that they were at eye level. "I don't know if there is a God or not; what I know is that, if there is, He no longer cares about us. Let me give you a free life-lesson, Lovino: that Hell you speak of is the earth we live in. You've only gotten a small taste of how cruel and twisted this world is."

"You're the one who's cruel and twisted," Lovino replied weakly.

Antonio laughed quietly. "I am, aren't I? But I thought I already told you when we first met: I am what the world made me. I wasn't born a monster. But I _was_ very young when I learnt that, to survive in this cruel and twisted world, you have to be cruel and twisted yourself. You would agree with me if you went through what I have been through."

Lovino only hesitated for a moment. "So what have you been through?"

A heavy silence fell on them, and for what felt like an eternity, Antonio's burning green eyes stared directly into Lovino's; not a blink, not a sound. And then the pirate smirked.

"The Calabrese has more personality, eh? Maybe I'll just grab a couple of bottles of each and see which one works better." He patted Lovino's cheek in some sort of friendly slap and stood up. "Thanks for your help," he smiled before turning to leave.

"Crazy bastard…" Lovino growled under his breath.

With only one foot on the stairs, Antonio froze and glanced sideways at him. "Did you say something?" he asked, feigning innocence.

"No."

"I thought so."

The moment the pirate disappeared upstairs, Lovino rubbed his cheek with his sleeve in disgust, trying to get rid of the ghost touch of Antonio's hand.

~{x}~{§}~{x}~

When Antonio walked in Arthur's room, the others were already there. Francis immediately snatched the wine from him and started to study it carefully; Gilbert complained that he had only brought wine and no beer; and Arthur, without a word, shifted a bit on the bed so Antonio could sit next to him.

" _It took you longer than I expected_ ," the English captain said.

" _I had to have a chat with the prisoner_ ," Antonio answered, leaning on him.

Francis tensed and stopped studying the wine. " _About what?_ " he asked, worry evident in his voice.

" _About wine. I didn't kill him or hurt him or threaten him in any way; you can breathe._ "

" _Since when do you take prisoners?_ " Gilbert intervened, clearly confused.

" _Since Francis won't let me kill them_."

" _It's a one-time thing_ ," Francis rolled his eyes. " _He's worth too much to kill_."

Antonio made a face, looked away and crossed his arms, like a sulky child, but relaxed when he felt Arthur's arm around his shoulders, his fingers playing softly with his ear.

" _We're not here to talk about that_ ," said Arthur in a bored tone. " _Francis, can you please stop pretending to know anything about wine and open the bottles already? And Gilbert, do you plan to shuffle those cards for the rest of the night?_ "

" _Excuse me, but I know a lot about wine_ ," Francis protested, offended. " _Not everyone likes to get mindlessly drunk like you do_."

" _Okay, okay, enough bickering, you two_ ," Gilbert cut them. As the oldest of the group, he had long ago claimed the role of the peace-maker, even though he was usually the one who got in the most trouble. He placed a plate with some food in the middle, along with some glasses for the wine, and then wiggled the deck of cards he had been shuffling. " _So, what are we playing_?"

For the rest of the afternoon and into the evening, they drank and ate and played cards, sometimes betting, always chatting and laughing. Much to Antonio's dismay, Francis took the alcohol away from him when he deemed his captain had drunk enough ("We leave tomorrow, Antonio. And it's not nice when you drink too much"); thankfully, Arthur made sure to distract him with discrete kisses and light touches. Though not as discrete as he intended, if Gilbert's disgusted face at their lack of shame was any indication.

Antonio sighed and pressed closer against Arthur. The arm around his shoulder tightened the grip and a hand slid under his shirt, warm fingertips tracing the skin of his chest. Card games had grown boring a while ago, and the four of them were now enjoying the idleness. But, judging by the way Arthur started to kiss and suck his neck, Antonio thought that things would soon stop being so quiet and calm.

"Francis, Gil," he called, monotone. His friends stopped their chat and looked at him, bafflement clear on their faces when they saw the position their captains were in. Antonio smirked. "Shoo," he said, waving his hand in the direction of the door.

Indignant, Gilbert crossed his arms before his chest and frowned. " _I ain't going anywhere_ ," he stated. " _Just because you two horndogs can't keep it in your pants, it doesn't mean you can just_ —"

" _Don't bother, Gil_ ," Francis cut him with a sigh. " _They plan to go on whether we're here or not. Come on_." He stood up and dragged his friend with him towards the door, ignoring his grunting. "Antonio, you better be decent tomorrow morning," he said before leaving and closing the door behind them.

Tempted as he was to reply "yes, mum", Antonio preferred to put his mouth to better use and kissed Arthur instead. His lover pushed him until he was lying on the bed, and Antonio smiled into the kiss.

"Be gentle," he whispered when they parted.

"We'll see," Arthur replied, smirking. He leant for another kiss, but made it short. "Can I ask you something?"

Antonio made a face, not happy with the interruption, but nodded.

"Who is this prisoner you were talking about before?"

"Why do you want to know?"

"Curiosity."

"Hm." Antonio frowned and cocked his head. It was understandable that Arthur was curious, considering Antonio's history with prisoners, but he couldn't believe he was being asked precisely then. He sighed. "It's the heir of the Vargas family."

Arthur's eyes opened wide. "Wow. You've got a good one. No wonder Francis didn't let you kill him," he said, impressed. "For some reason, I thought you had someone from Santiago's—"

A firm hand on his mouth shut him up, and Antonio's blazing eyes froze him on the spot.

"Don't you dare mention his name," Antonio hissed. "Don't—ever again." He pushed Arthur off him and sat on the edge of the bed, turning his back on him. "Good job killing the mood," he added after a few seconds of tense silence.

"I'm sorry," muttered Arthur. "I wasn't thinking." He crawled on the bed towards Antonio and tried to put a hand on his shoulder, but was coldly rejected. "Hey…"

Antonio buried his face on his hands and groaned into them, trying to fight back tempestuous memories. Arthur tried to touch him again, and again he shook him off. He barely heard his apologies.

A few minutes passed, during which Antonio not only didn't calm down, but also started to breath faster and shakier, which only made Arthur feel guiltier. Eventually, it was too much, and Antonio stood up abruptly, startling Arthur.

"H-Hey, where are you—?"

The end of the question was covered by Antonio slamming the door behind him as he left the room.

 _Get out of my head, get out my head, get out of my head!_ he thought feverishly as he walked through the inn's corridors, fearing that he would give in to panic at any moment.

Thankfully, the room wasn't far, and it only took Francis a few seconds to open after he knocked loudly.

"Antonio?" Francis' expression morphed from sleepy to worried in the fraction of a second. "Hey, what is it?" When his friend failed to answer, he took him inside and made him sit on the bed. "It's okay, Antonio, I'm here," he said softly, kneeling in front of him. "Come on, talk to me—what happened?"

Antonio chocked back a sob. "A-Arthur mentioned _him_ ," he said in between hiccups. "A-And we were in b-bed and he was on top of me and I-I panicked."

Francis closed his eyes and silently cursed Arthur for his lack of sense of opportunity. But then he put on a smile for Antonio's sake. "Okay, sssh, don't cry. You're safe here. I'm with you. Don't cry." Gently, he dried the tears off Antonio's cheeks. "You can sleep here, if you want."

"N-No," Antonio shook his head. "I don't want to sleep, not here, nor anywhere else."

"I'll be with you," Francis insisted. "I'll wake you up if you have a nightmare, I promise."

Antonio took a few deep breaths in an attempt at calming down, only succeeding partially. Then nodded shakily, hesitantly.

"Come on," Francis smiled, embracing him. "You'll feel better tomorrow, when we set sail."

"… I hope so," Antonio mumbled.

* * *

 _AN/ I swear every time Francis enters a scene, he comes alive and writes himself ._. Francis Bonnefoy, you attention-whore!  
Feel free to theorize about who Santiago is! I used for him one of the most common names given to 2p!Spain, but it has nothing to do with it. But please, bombard me with theories. I greatly enjoy reading them.  
Also, I don't know shit about wine. I just googled 'Italian wines' and chose the two names I liked the most (and they're regions, not even particular varieties). Just... roll with it._

 _And, as promised, ages and orientations (those more relevant):_

 _Antonio - 28, gay af (also demi, I guess)  
Francis - 29, pan (he has a lot of love to give)  
Arthur - 27, bi  
Gilbert - 31, the straightest macho to ever macho  
Lovino - 17, the poor dear thinks he's straight xD  
Raúl - 24  
Emma - early-to-mid 30s  
Elizabeta - mid-to-late 40s  
Alistair - later 30s/early 40s_

 _Also, about that... Um, I know it wasn't rare for pirates to have male lovers, so it's not like same-sex relationships were bad regarded or anything. So I kinda made that up, the "it's okay to like other men but it's not okay not to like women". I sincerely hope none of you is reading this for the historical acccuracy. n_n"_


	6. Chapter VI

_AN/ This is a pretty meh chapter. Not much happens, plot-wise, but we'll be back to action in the next one, promise. n_n (The ending of this one already starts getting interesting.)_

 _Oh, also, I think many of you were a bit confused by the previous chapter: Santiago is an OC, not an Hetalian._

* * *

 **TIGHT ROPE**

 **Chapter VI**

Francis awoke early in the morning to the sound of Antonio quietly sobbing.

"Hey," he mumbled, weakly pulling him into a hug. "Did you have a nightmare?"

Antonio buried his head on Francis' chest. "No," he answered quietly. "But I dreamt about her."

His words were loaded with sadness. Francis sighed and ran his fingers through Antonio's hair in a soothing fashion. Not for the first time, he wondered if his friend was ever going to be able to leave his past behind. "That's not too bad, no?" he said.

"… It could be worse," Antonio agreed. "But it still hurts."

Usually, Francis would have tried to say some words of wisdom that would bring comfort over his hurting friend. But he had just awoken and his mind wasn't in the right shape for that yet, so he settled for physical affection. It wasn't as effective, but it was good enough.

After a decade of friendship, Antonio wasn't a mystery to him. Francis could read him like an open book: his words, his expressions, his moods, everything that many others misinterpreted. He knew the Spaniard better than anybody else — better, even, than Antonio himself. The walls and façades his friend had built around him were crystal clear, and he didn't need to bring them down to see a scared and hurt child that had found in vengeance the strength to live. In a way, Francis admired Antonio's resolution. There were few things that would stop him from getting revenge, and the Frenchman wasn't sure if Death was one of them.

"Francis," Antonio called him quietly, though with a much firmer voice than before.

"Yes?"

"I'm going to kill him."

He smiled.

"Of course you are."

~{x}~{§}~{x}~

As Francis had assured him the previous night, Antonio felt a lot better once _El Diablo_ set sail and left Ibiza behind. The sense of freedom that accompanied it did wonders to his spirit.

Earlier, before they left the inn, Arthur had approached him and apologized for his poor choice of words the night before. He looked genuinely sorry, but Antonio wasn't sure whether it was because he did regret mentioning _him_ or because he had screwed up his chance of spending the night together. Either way, he had forgiven him; hopefully he had learnt his lesson. And, anyway, it'd be months before they saw each other again — he didn't want to hold another grudge for so long. He had enough with the one he'd been holding for fourteen years.

"Where to, Captain?" Francis asked, cheerful, when Antonio joined him on the upper deck, where he was at the helm.

"I'll let you choose," Antonio answered. "Wherever you feel like sending the other two letters to the Vargas."

"Oh?" Francis raised an eyebrow, surprised. "I can't believe you remember that."

"I do listen to you when you talk to me, Francis. Many times I choose to ignore whatever it is you've told me, but that's another story."

"Of course," he rolled his eyes. He was in a good mood, though, so he let it pass and focused on thinking their new destination. "I take it that _wherever I feel like going_ is limited to the Mediterranean, yes?"

"Evidently."

"Is it too risky going to Algiers?"

"Algiers?" Antonio repeated in disbelief. "That _is_ risky. We won't be welcome there."

"I know." He smiled innocently. "But it's pretty."

"You are unbelievable." A small smile showed up on his lips. He felt like taking some risks. "Alright then — Algiers it is. I hope I don't regret it."

"Honestly," Francis snickered, steering the wheel, "I don't think you even know what regret feels like."

Antonio made a pondering face, but didn't deny it.

~{x}~{§}~{x}~

A few days passed until Lovino finally saw Raúl again.

The pirate brought him dinner one night; apparently, Francis was too busy with his role as a first-mate and had had to rely on him again for feeding the prisoner. Of course, he had received a stern warning about not releasing him again (after leaving Ibiza, the keys had been returned to their original place in the brig) and an underlying threat in case he dared to do anything stupid.

"Did he punish you for the, um, escapade?" Lovino asked between chews.

"Yes," Raúl sighed, rubbing his neck. "I have two cleaning shifts now. Could've been worse, though." He looked up the stairs to make sure no one was listening before adding: "And the Captain doesn't know anything, which is for the best."

"No kidding."

"Anyway, did you at least have fun?" the pirate asked, a friendly smile on his face. When Lovino nodded, he gave him a thumbs-up. "Then it was worth it."

It was then when Lovino noticed a bandage around Raúl's wrist. "Gee, what happened to you?" he asked, worried.

"Huh? Oh, this?" He chuckled and gently patted the bandages. "I didn't see a loose nail while cleaning; accidentally stabbed myself with it."

"Can I take a look?"

Raúl raised an eyebrow, a bit confused, but walked to his side and sat next to him anyway. Lovino took his hand and carefully removed the bandages, discovering a deep, irregular cut.

"That doesn't look good," Lovino muttered. "What did you do after injuring yourself?"

"I finished cleaning and went to see the doctor. He bandaged it."

Lovino waited for a few seconds before exclaiming, scandalized: "That's it?" He stared at Raúl in horror for a few seconds before moving his attention back to the cut. "It should have been washed before bandaged; and it doesn't help that these… _bandages_ " he nearly spat the word "are dirty rags. You're lucky it's not infected—yet. What kind of doctor do you have in this ship?"

"Well…" He cleared his throat. "He's not an _actual_ doctor. He has the position because he saw an amputation once."

"You're kidding."

"Hey, it's not easy to find good doctors, you know? Sometimes you just have to work with what you have."

"So now I not only have to worry about the ship sinking with me in it or about your bastard of a captain being an ass, but also about not catching any illness or injuring myself because you don't have a fucking proper doctor on board. Awesome," Lovino grunted. "Do yourself a favour: wash that cut thoroughly with clean water and have it bandaged again, but this time with the cleanest cloths you can find. And pray the nail wasn't rusty."

Raúl blinked, a bit taken aback by Lovino's little outburst. "Okay." He stood up again, but didn't leave yet. "Since when are you an expert in medicine?"

"It was a hobby of mine. My family's doctor gave me lessons every week."

Baffled, the pirate could only mutter "rich people" under his breath before leaving the brig. Lovino smiled to himself, amused by how easily Raúl was surprised by stuff that he had always perceived as normal.

Then again, he hadn't been fully honest.

Medicine had never been a hobby. It was a _passion_.

At first, his father had strongly opposed it. Lovino had been born into a family of merchants, heir to the commercial empire his grandfather had built, and he had no choice but to be a part of that. But Lovino had insisted, insisted, insisted, sworn it was nothing more than a passing hobby, begged until his father had agreed to let him take some classes. Once a week, and no more. Of course, it had ended being much more than that. Once the doctor had seen how interested Lovino was, they had started to meet more often, clandestine lessons that he enjoyed deeply. They became a bubble of freedom inside the life he had no control over.

Those classes were the second thing he missed the most of home.

The first one was his brother.

Feliciano was cleverer than anyone gave him credit for, but he was also too sweet, too sentimental — too prone to being hurt. Their father had never seemed to worry about Feli's dangerously over-trusting attitude (after all, it was Lovino, the eldest sibling, who would take over the business after him), so Lovino had taken it upon himself to protect his younger brother from anyone who'd try to abuse his kindness. In their world, it happened often.

As a consequence, the brothers shared a very tight bond, so as expected Feli hadn't taken good the news of his departure, and had been sulky since he had heard until Lovino had boarded the ship. He didn't want to imagine how devastated his little brother was then, if the news of the pirate attack had reached Naples. Carriedo wasn't known for taking prisoners; they would most likely take him for dead until they received the letters (if they did reach them).

The brig suddenly felt colder. Lovino curled up and tried to banish from his mind the dark thought that maybe he wouldn't get to see Feli again.

~{x}~{§}~{x}~

 _"Lovi! Lovi! Lovi, Lovi, Lovi! Hey! Lovi! Loviiiiiiiiiii!"_

 _"WHAT?!"_

 _Feliciano recoiled, scared by the sudden scream. His lower lip started to tremble, his eyes filled with tears. Lovino sighed._

 _"Sorry," he mumbled. "I have a lot of work to do. I'm a bit stressed."_

 _"That's for grown-ups," Feli pouted, drying his eyes on his sleeve. "That's_ boring _."_

 _"It is," Lovino admitted, making a face. "I'd rather be playing with you."_

 _"So you're coming?"_

 _His childish face brightened up with hope. Lovino hated having to destroy it._

 _"I can't." He put on a fake smile. "Maybe next time."_

 _He said that every time._

 _…_

 _"Lovi."_

 _"Yes?"_

 _"Mum cries a lot lately."_

 _"She's very sad."_

 _"I'm sad, too."_

 _"I know. So is Dad."_

 _"Are you sad as well?"_

 _"… yes."_

 _"What are we going to do?"_

 _"Be sad together."_

 _"Lovi."_

 _"Yes?"_

 _"I'm scared."_

 _"Don't be. I'm not going to let anything happen to you. Ever."_

 _"Promise?"_

 _"Promise."_

 _…_

 _"For the last time, just_ what the hell _were you doing?"_

 _"Y-You p-p-promise you w-won't"_ _—sob— "tell Dad?"_

 _"Yes."_

 _"I-I-I was i-in the kit-tchen stealing s-sweets."_

 _Lovino stopped washing Feli's scraped knee to rub his face in disbelief. "You were in the kitchen stealing sweets," he repeated, pinching the bridge of his nose. "How does that translate into_ this _?" he pointed to the wound._

 _"S-Someone walked in and I ran away and I fell."_

 _"Well," Lovino sighed as he resumed the cleaning, "I hope you've learnt your lesson."_

 _"Don't steal sweets?"_

 _"No." He smirked. "Look where you're running."_

 _…_

 _"Do you really have to go?"_

 _"I_ want _to go."_

 _"…"_

 _"Don't pout. Hey. Stop pouting!"_

 _"…"_

 _"Feli…"_

 _"I'm going to miss you."_

 _"I know."_

 _"A lot."_

 _"I'll miss you too. But hey! I'll be back before you know it!"_

 _"Promise?"_

 _"Promise."_

~{x}~{§}~{x}~

That same night, it was Francis who brought him dinner again. "I hope you and Raúl didn't do anything stupid today," was his greeting as he entered the brig.

Lovino scoffed. "Of course not. We learnt our lesson." He accepted his dinner and added: "He doesn't want more cleaning shifts."

The first-mate hummed in agreement. "He injured himself," he commented casually.

"Yes, I know."

"I know you know."

Lovino stopped chewing and looked up at Francis, who was staring at him with a curious glint in his blue eyes. He sighed. "What exactly did he tell you?"

"He was neglecting his cleaning duties, so I went to scold him. I found him treating his own wound. He said you had told him to do that."

"I did," Lovino admitted, wondering where the Frenchman wanted to get.

"Hm." Francis crossed his arms and leant against the opposite wall, eyeing Lovino with a pondering expression. "Why do you have medical knowledge?"

Lovino made a face and looked away, giving Francis the same vague explanation he had said to Raúl earlier: it had been a hobby of his; the family doctor used to teach him. He was purposefully leaving out some bits of the story; bits he wasn't willing to share with pirates, no matter how much he liked them (or, rather, how much he didn't dislike them).

"Are you any good?" Francis asked then.

A loud, metallic noise filled the brig when Lovino slammed the now empty tray on the floor. "What do you want?" he asked, glaring at the Frenchman.

Unfazed by the aggressive attitude, the first-mate smiled and simply said: "Would you like a job?"

A dense silence filled the brig, only broken by Lovino a few seconds later with a shocked "excuse me?".

"Would you like a job?" Francis repeated.

"Are you asking me to be your crew's doctor?"

"I'm offering you a deal," he corrected. "Be the ship's doctor; teach the basics to someone else."

"And in exchange?"

Francis made a show of looking around themselves, at the dark brig Lovino was prisoner in. "You get out of here," he said. "No chains; free to move around the ship."

Incredulous, Lovino exhaled all the air at once. The prospect of getting to see the sun again was very tempting, but he didn't feel comfortable enough with the idea of joining a pirate crew, however unofficially.

"Think about it, yes?" Francis smiled, no doubt sensing his doubts. "I have to talk to the captain about this anyway," he chuckled a bit nervously. Both of them knew Antonio wouldn't be happy at all. "Oh well." He picked up the tray from the floor and made his way to the stairs. "Let me know what you've decided the next time I come," he said before leaving.

The next time he came? Lovino wasn't sure if he'd have an answer by then. He was facing quite the dilemma. Should he listen to his desire of getting rid of the shackles or to the whisper in the back of his mind that advised _do not get more involved with the pirates than necessary_?

With a groan, he rubbed his face with the hands. It wasn't going to be an easy choice.

~{x}~{§}~{x}~

Francis had decided not to approach Antonio that very same day, since the captain looked tired, and instead talk to him the following morning, when he was well-rested and in a better mood for receiving propositions. He dedicated all the time in between to planning how to present the deal to Antonio; he had to find a way in which not even him could refuse it. He was stubborn and prejudiced, but also a good captain: if he was convinced it'd be the best for the crew, he'd eventually give in.

The problem would be convincing him.

It was a little over noon when he finally found a moment in which both of them were free from their duties as captain and first-mate. Antonio was sitting on the stairs between decks, watching as his men carried out the orders he had been giving. His posture was relaxed and, upon getting closer, Francis heard he was humming a happy tune. He seemed to be in a particularly good mood.

"Someone's happy today," he commented as he sat next to him. "Why is that?"

"If I knew, my life would be much easier," Antonio answered, a soft smile on his face. "I don't know why. But I'm feeling good. I was even considering bringing out the guitar."

Francis smiled at that. Antonio was very fond of his guitar (it had been a gift from Alistair five years ago, when the Spaniard got command of his first ship) and was a fantastic player, but most of the time he played alone in his cabin. The occasions when he went outside and played for all the crew to hear were rare.

"Well, I'm glad. I'm afraid I might ruin your mood, though."

"I knew it was too good to be true," Antonio sighed. "Go ahead, what is it? What did we run out of? Who's dying?"

"We are still very well stocked on food and water and nobody's dying."

"Then?"

"I wanted to—"

Before Francis could start talking about Lovino, he was interrupted by a loud "CAPTAIN!" coming from the crow's nest, immediately followed by a "Ship incoming!". Antonio jumped to his feet and rushed upstairs, followed closely by Francis.

"Any chance we're attacking?" the first-mate asked.

"Perhaps." Antonio pulled out his spyglass and looked at the horizon, where a black spot could be seen even with the naked eye. "Depends on who our friend…"

"Eh? What is it?" Francis asked, worried, when he trailed off. He looked at him and was shocked to see a serious expression on his friend's face. "Antonio…?"

"It's coming fast at us," the Spaniard mumbled. "I'd rather avoid it, but I'm not sure if we'll manage to." He lowered the spyglass and smacked it close, though his gaze never left the approaching ship. There was a dark note in his voice when he announced:

"It's the Turk."

~{x}~{§}~{x}~

The Turk was probably the only person in the Mediterranean who Antonio actively avoided conflict with. They had clashed one too many times for the Spaniard to know that nothing good ever came from facing him.

His name was Sadik Adnan and, like Antonio himself, he was a feared pirate that had made of the Mediterranean his territory. He already had a reputation when _El Diablo_ first set sail, and its young captain had been eager to meet him; then, it had turned out that they didn't see eye to eye in anything, and the at first friendly meeting had ended in blood. From there had emerged an unhealthy rivalry that always took lives whenever they happened to stumble upon each other at sea. At first, Antonio had sought the fights, but soon had realized (with a bit of help from his loyal first-mate) that it was much easier to ignore him and let someone else claim his head.

But Sadik didn't agree with them even in that, and he hadn't given up on chasing Antonio with all the intentions of ending him.

Antonio clenched his fist around the spyglass. "What do you think, Francis?" he asked in a low growl.

"I think battle is unavoidable," the Frenchman answered.

"So it seems," he agreed. His glare finally left the ship and he glanced sideways at his friend. "Adnan has become quite a bother. Let's end him today."

"Let's."

There was no trace of the happy mood from before in Captain Carriedo as he started to bark orders at his crew; orders that were followed immediately and without protest. If there was one thing Antonio had earned as captain, it was the trust of his men: no matter the enemy, they followed his lead without hesitation. His strong determination had granted them victory on many occasions.

Then again, the same could be said about the Turk.

 _Come, Sadik_ , thought Antonio, unsheathing his cutlass. Blade in one hand, pistol on the other; red coat on, long hair tied with his crimson ribbon; self-confidence on his face and fire in his eyes — he was the greatest icon of the terror of the seas. _Let's end this once and for all_.

* * *

 _AN/ If I stick to my plan, the next two chapters are going to be gooooood~ But no spoilers!_ ;)


	7. Chapter VII

_AN: Did I write this entire chapter while listening to the soundtrack of Pirates of the Caribbean? Yes, yes I did. Hope you like it._ :P

* * *

 **TIGHT ROPE**

 **Chapter VII**

 _No_.

Lovino had made his choice.

He wouldn't aid the pirates.

It had cost him countless hours of pondering, of logic fighting emotions. He did love medicine, and he'd be thrilled to leave that stinky brig and get to feel the warm caress of the sun again. But, no matter how friendly Raúl was, no matter how kindly Francis treated him, they were still pirates. Murderers, robbers, the lowest scum of mankind. If he joined them, he doubted he'd be able to look his father in the eye again.

Francis would be disappointed when he told him his decision, so Lovino deemed it wise to start thinking on how to deliver the news. He didn't want to be rude — the first-mate had done nothing to deserve it, after all, and Lovino didn't want to lose a powerful ally inside the ship.

"Okay…" he breathed deeply. Despite being alone, he felt a bit embarrassed for practising aloud: "I've decided that—"

 _BOOM!_

There was a loud explosion and the ship rocked violently. Unprepared, Lovino lost his balance and fell to the floor, accidentally yanking at the chain. " _Fuck_!" he yelled in pain when the shackles around his wrists dug in his skin as consequence.

He would have wondered what was going on, had he not lived it already. He recognized the sound of cannons being fired, the movement the ship made after being hit, the screams he could (faintly) hear coming from deck.

 _El Diablo_ was under attack.

The question wasn't _what_. It was _who_.

~{x}~{§}~{x}~

The Turkish pirates hadn't stopped or hesitated or given them a chance to dialog: the moment both ships were at firing range, they had started to fire their cannons; and the moment the ships were at boarding distance, they had fearlessly jumped onto the Spanish ship. Antonio would have liked to slay a couple of them, but he had been shamelessly avoided. _Ignored_ , even. Had he been facing any other enemy, he would have been offended, but this was Sadik. Surely the Turk had given orders to his men regarding the Spaniard — he was the kind of person that wanted to defeat him personally.

Sure enough, he didn't have to wait long for the Turk to make his appearance. He was tall and broad, dark-skinned, and hid the upper half of his face behind a white mask that contrasted with his black hair. "Carriedo," he said in greeting, and Antonio clenched his fist around the hilt of his cutlass. As usual, his surname had been pronounced incorrectly. "Long time no see."

"And I was so happy about that," he replied, pointing his blade at him. "Looks like the only way out you're giving me is killing you." Before Sadik could reply, he pulled out a pistol from his sash and fired at him. The Turk, sadly, knew him too well and had expected it, so he was out of the way even before Antonio pulled the trigger.

Seconds later, their blades met.

They both were skilled fighters. Sadik was a tad stronger, but what Antonio lacked in strength he made up for with agility. His blows came fast and uninterrupted, pushing the Turk backwards even though he managed to block them all. After many previous battles, it was known that an early advantage could very likely be what gave someone victory.

Unfortunately, Antonio's boost didn't last long, and Sadik soon managed to take the offensive. His lips twisted into a smirk and his eyes gleamed behind the mask in a clear provocation. The Spaniard growled, his attention divided between the fight and not falling for the Turk's tricks. Against other opponents, he didn't mind letting loose the wild, blood-thirsty side of him — but not with Sadik, who was too skilled, knew him too well. He couldn't afford to lose his rational mind when facing him, or he'd be shredded to pieces.

"Are you holding back?" Sadik sneered. "Do you really think you can beat me like this?"

Instead of replying, Antonio attacked with renewed strength. The swords clashed together once again and, much to his satisfaction, it was him who got the first blood. The sharp edge of his blade stroked the Turk's shoulder, spilling crimson, and Sadik growled in pain. However, he still managed to keep a cool head and keep fighting as if nothing had happened — it wasn't long until the Spaniard was the one on the receiving end.

 _You won't defeat me_ , Antonio thought, confident. _You **can't** defeat me. I refuse to die until I've accomplished my goal_.

He disliked Sadik, he truly did. But that feeling paled in comparison of the absolute loathing he felt towards Santiago. To end him had become his objective, his _obsession_ , the one thing that kept him going. He wasn't going to let the Turk stand between him and his goal.

 _I'm going to make you regret making an enemy of me_.

Sadik's hand grabbed his right arm, trying to immobilize it as his armed hand flew at him with all the intentions of stabbing him. Roaring, Antonio smacked it away with his free arm and, without missing a second, he leant back for impulse and headbutted the Turk straight in the face.

" _Son of a_ —!" Sadik shrieked, letting go of him. The mask had taken most of the damage (it had even cracked at some parts), but it had also sunk harshly on his skin, and his nose had taken a pretty direct hit and was bleeding profusely.

" _Fuck_ ," Antonio breathed out, rubbing his forehead. He'd get a big, round bump, he knew it. But his attack had taken the Turk unprepared, and now he had the higher ground.

Not giving one extra second to recover, he attacked again with a wild scream.

~{x}~{§}~{x}~

Francis pulled the cutlass out of the chest he had just pierced from side to side and let the limp body fall to the ground. The battle had pushed him to a now quiet corner, and he took a moment of calm to look around and evaluate the situation.

The first thing that caught his eye was the fierce fight between the two captains. Antonio's red coat waved around in almost mesmerizing movements as the Spaniard performed his dance of death with the Turk. From the distance, Francis couldn't tell if either of them was injured or even who was winning. Well aware that the result of their individual fight could determine the result of the battle, he briefly considered joining — Sadik wouldn't stand a chance against him and Antonio together. But he also knew that Antonio tended to put pride over logic in those situations, and disturbing his fight might easily have the opposite effect.

Perhaps the best thing for him to do would be to keep killing Turks until the captains settled their brawl.

Even as he decided that, his gaze remained focused on them, as if he were hypnotized. Had he looked to his right, he would have seen the Turkish pirate that, avoiding the fight, went inside the ship in search of loot. Had he looked to his left, he would have seen the enemy blade before feeling its bite on his arm.

~{x}~{§}~{x}~

The ship no longer rocked so violently as before, although it did keep receiving cannonballs from time to time, and even though that had been welcomed, the noisy battle that came from upstairs was most certainly not. The situation reminded Lovino too much of the start of the nightmare: locked away in a room, hearing others fighting for their lives, unable to do anything except praying.

And pray he did.

He prayed no cannonball found its way into the brig and blew him to pieces. He prayed the attackers wouldn't kill him, whoever they were. He prayed, prayed, prayed that the attackers were friends and not foes — Neapolitan, Spanish, French, no matter which Navy, someone that would promptly take him home.

The loud stomping of heavy feet on the stairs pulled him out of his thoughts. Scared, Lovino jumped to his feet and moved as far from the entrance as the chain allowed him. _Please be a friend, please be a friend, please be a friend_ , he prayed silently, even as his heartbeat sped up and his breathing became irregular.

The sharp tip of a blade was the first thing to come into his vision through the open door, and Lovino swallowed in fear and pressed against the wall. The sword was followed by a dark-skinned man; a pirate, based on his clothes, and not one of Carriedo's men.

The newcomer saw Lovino and frowned in confusion, saying something in a language the Italian didn't speak. " _I-I don't understand_ ," he stuttered in Italian. "Don't understand," he repeated in Spanish.

"Prisoner?" the pirate asked, a thick accent in his voice. When Lovino nodded, he muttered something to himself in his tongue; then grabbed the keys and tossed them at him. "Unchain."

Taken by surprise, Lovino barely managed to catch the keys, and it took him a moment to realize that he was being offered his freedom. An incredulous smile formed on his lips as he struggled to unlock the shackles around his wrists. Everything was happening a bit fast for him to process, but he had been locked for so long, having the keys to his freedom so close to him yet still out of reach, that he wasn't going to let pass the moment in which he finally had them.

"Free…" he chuckled, unbelieving, when he managed to unlock the shackles. The chain jungled when he dropped them, and it sounded like music to his ears. "Hey, thank—"

Before he could finish saying his gratitude, the pirate's sword pressed against his neck, silencing him. Black eyes gleamed in the dark, yellowish teeth showed up in a grin, and the Turk said in a growl: "You me prisoner now."

~{x}~{§}~{x}~

With a blade on his throat, Lovino could only close his eyes, choke back a sob, and obediently follow the pirate upstairs. A rough hand held his wrists behind his back and he winced in pain (the shackles had left that skin very sensitive) but didn't protest.

Reducing his physical activity to the very minimum of walking following the pirate's silent commands, he put his mind to work.

He could only assume that his new captor had reached an easy conclusion: Lovino was worth a lot if someone like Antonio Carriedo, known for not taking prisoners, had decided to keep him alive. Which meant he would be taken to his ship and a different pirate captain would try to collect his ransom. Nothing new there. What scared Lovino was the pirate's features, clothes and language. He wasn't from the western Mediterranean — Turkish, most likely, or some neighbouring country.

If this new pirate crew was from the eastern Mediterranean, Lovino didn't want to imagine how being their prisoner would be. He didn't speak their language, didn't share their religion; the chances of finding a Raúl or a Francis there were slim.

He wanted to leave _El Diablo_ , but not like that.

The sun blinded him when they finally made it to the deck. The battle was almost deafening now, and what Lovino couldn't see he could most definitely hear—and _smell_. He fought back the nausea and blinked, trying to get used to the sunlight, and the first thing that caught his eye was Carriedo's red coat.

The Spanish captain was engaged in a one-on-one battle with a masked Turk, who Lovino could only assume was the other captain, and even from the distance he could feel the intensity of their combat. No one else dared to intervene, and it was easy to understand why: they would cut down anyone who stood in their way, no matter friend or foe. Lovino didn't know what history those two had, but he figured it wasn't a good one.

"Move," the Turkish pirate growled, pushing him forward. Lovino tripped on a body and gasped in shock and disgust; his captor cursed in his native tongue and harshly picked him up and swung him over his shoulder.

"H-Hey, let go," Lovino protested, squirming. _Fuck…_ "I don't want to go with you! Hey!"

The pirated laughed and bounced him on his shoulder, knocking all the air out of his lungs. Lovino tried to struggle, even though there were tears in his eyes and he was dead scared — he did _not_ want to go in the ship of a man who looked like even more of an asshole than Carriedo.

"I said _let go_ ," he cried, sinking his knee in the man's chest.

He roared in pain and punched his side. Lovino screamed and tried to kick him, but the pirate grabbed his legs and immobilized them against his own chest. Defeated, the prisoner groaned, the tears now falling down his cheeks. He was wondering exactly what he had done for Fate to treat him like that when he heard his name being called:

"Lovino‼"

Hope renewed, he looked up to see Raúl rushing at them, cutlass in hand and determination in his eyes. The sight pulled out a bravery he didn't know he had in him and, since his arms and legs were immobilized, he bit down harshly his captor's back. There was a shriek and the next second he was hitting the ground; then, a boot kicked his stomach, and the only reason why a sword didn't cut him was that Raúl managed to block it with his own.

"Fight someone your own size, you dog," the Spaniard spat at the Turk, who replied something in his tongue before attacking him.

Gasping for air due to the kick, Lovino tried to stand up, barely making it to his knees. The enemy crews were still fighting — nobody seemed to be paying him any mind anymore — and he had no idea who was winning, who was losing, or if the battle would end up soon. What he did notice was that the Turk, most likely more rested than his opponent, was giving Raúl a hard time, and he felt the urge to help, somehow.

Raúl screamed and fell down — the Turk had kicked his leg with a strength born from rage and frustration — and Lovino knew he had no time to think. Unarmed, with no plan at all, he tackled the pirate as he raised his blade to finish Raúl and, acting on pure survival instinct, he punched his groin with all the strength he could gather.

The pirate howled in pain and stumbled backwards, away from Raúl, leaning down but shooting a furious glare at Lovino. _You're dead_ could be read all over his face. Lovino swallowed, terrified, but clenched his fists and remained standing where he was, between the Turk and Raúl.

 _I won't let you get him._

 _He has saved me_ — **_twice_**.

 _I owe him._

 _I'll save him now._

 _Even_ …

 _Even if it costs me my life._

Resolve strong, Lovino breathed deeply and returned the glare to the Turk, ignoring Raúl's faint voice behind him as he urged him to go back to the brig, where he'd be safer. He couldn't leave now.

The enemy pirate seemed to recover from Lovino's punch and straightened, gripping his sword in a white-knuckled fist, irradiating rage and bloodlust from every pore of his body, all of it directed towards the young Italian. He said something in Turkish — a threat, most likely. He took one step towards them.

And then there were loud screams that caught his attention. Pale, he turned around; Lovino followed his gaze and saw the masked man, barely conscious, being dragged away by two men, his white shirt tinted crimson on the front. His opponent cursed again and only turned to spit at him before rushing to help his crewmates carry their captain back to their ship.

"Fuck," Lovino breathed out. His legs were trembling and he sat down, trying to comprehend everything that had happened in the last five minutes. He had almost been abducted—again—but had fought back _and_ saved Raúl.

Raúl, who was cursing behind him.

"Shit," Lovino groaned, turning to him. "Are you alright?"

"No," Raúl complained. He was laying on his back, one arm flung over his face, the other clutching his thigh. "He broke my leg. He _broke_ my _leg_!"

Those words gave Lovino a new boost of energy and he rushed to take a look at the injured limb. "Stop whining," he ordered as he checked it, realizing that maybe, just maybe, Raúl was a bit of a drama queen. "It's not broken, but your knee is dislocated," he announced.

"It's _what_?"

"Out of place," he explained. "I have to snap it back where it's supposed to be."

"Is it going to hurt?"

"Yes."

"Fuck."

"It's alright. At the count of three, okay?"

"O-Okay."

"Three."

 _SNAP!_

Raúl shrieked when his knee was forcefully moved back in place and glared at Lovino, who only shrugged and told him not to look at him like that. After having taken care of Feli for so long, he knew exactly how to deal with scared patients.

"Come on, that wasn't so bad," he smiled, patting Raúl's shoulder as the pirate sat up, rubbing his hurting knee. "At least we're alive."

The Spaniard smiled and was ready to talk — maybe to express his gratitude, maybe to curse him to hell and back — when hurried footsteps reached them.

"Lovino."

The Italian looked up to see Francis. The first-mate was dishevelled and messy, his clothes dirty and torn, his left arm displaying a long cut that had it covered in blood — but his expression was serious, grave. He didn't seem to notice his own injures; all his attention was focused on Lovino.

And Lovino knew exactly what he wanted from him.

 _Fuck_.

"I'll take a look at all the wounded," he said, standing up. "Is there anyone critical?"

"There is one," Francis replied quietly.

~{x}~{§}~{x}~

Lovino almost screamed when he saw him.

Antonio was laying on his back, unconscious. There was a deep cut on his abdomen that started almost at the hip and went all the way across his body to the opposite pectoral. The red coat below him was soaked in blood, although it was hard to tell how much the captain had lost due to the similar colour.

 _He's dead_.

The thought briefly crossed Lovino's mind. But then he looked closely and saw his chest moving slightly, raising and falling. He was breathing; hardly, but breathing. The bastard was still alive.

Lovino moved fast, following an impulse. He knelt beside the captain and tore off him the remains of his shirt, using it to cover the injury and stop the bleeding. "Is there a bed somewhere?" he asked, his voice full of authority.

"His own," Francis nodded, "in his cabin."

"Move him there; keep this pressed on the wound all the time," Lovino ordered. "Is there any medical equipment in the ship?"

"There should be a box downstairs with very basic stuff," Francis answered as he replaced him.

"I know where it is," Raúl said to Lovino. He was limping a little, but was moving with ease and had followed them there. "I'll take you to it."

Lovino nodded and followed him. As they left, he heard Francis screaming at some sailors to help him move Antonio's body to the cabin. He wasn't sure the Spaniard would survive that; he wasn't sure the Spaniard would survive at all. Yet he was going to try.

"Can I ask you something?" said Raúl as he grabbed the box Francis had mentioned.

"No."

He knew what the question would be, and he wasn't sure he had an answer. If he stopped to think too much about it, he wouldn't do it, and he wanted to.

He wanted to save Antonio.

When they came back, the captain had already been moved to the cabin, so they rushed inside. Francis was standing next to the bed, one hand pressing the rags against the wound while the other stroked Antonio's long hair.

"Stay with me, Toni," the first-mate was whispering. "Please, Toni, stay with me, don't go. You can't leave yet." When he heard them walk in, his head shot up to look at them, worry and fear evident in his blue eyes.

"I'll do all I can," Lovino promised him. "I just need one person to stay here to aid me, and no distractions at all."

Francis nodded. "Raúl, will you stay with Lovino?" he asked. Raúl agreed and he sighed shakily. "I'll be outside putting some order. If anything were to happen," he made a small pause to take in a deep breath, "please let me know." Not another word, he stormed outside.

"The Captain and the first-mate are very close," Raúl muttered in explanation. "They have been friends for a very long time."

"You'll tell me their life some other time," Lovino replied, serious. "Come on, the asshole's dying. We've got no time to lose."

~{x}~{§}~{x}~

It was late when Francis returned to the cabin. Ever since leaving behind a severely injured Antonio, he had focused on organizing the crew, recounting the dead and evaluating the damage of the ship, trying to distract himself from the fact that his best friend was dying and there was nothing he could do about it. He had managed to pay his attention to the task at hand, even though the thought never really left his mind; it was always there, in the back of his brain, a tiny whisper that reminded him of how critical Antonio's situation was. He kept expecting to see the door to the cabin opening and Lovino walking out to deliver the terrible news.

But that had never happened, and he walked into the cabin with pain in his heart, not knowing what to expect.

Raúl was sitting on the floor, leant against the wall, snoring.

Lovino was sitting at the desk, sprawled on the chair, clearly exhausted.

Antonio was laying on the bed, bandages all across his abdomen, pale but breathing slowly and steadily.

"I did my best," Lovino mumbled. "It's up to him now — if he wants to cling to life, he'll live."

"It'll be alright, then," Francis smile, relief evident on his face and voice, as he pushed some strands of hair out of Antonio's face. "He's the most stubborn person I've ever met. He'll make it."

"Hm." Lovino stood up and stumbled towards him. "Let me see your arm," he yawned.

"My arm is good. I already had it treated."

"Not by me. Let me see it. And then I'll go" —yawn— "check the rest of the crew."

"Lovino," Francis stopped him, grabbing him by the shoulders and looking at him straight in the eye, "no. You've already done more than enough."

"But—"

"No."

Lovino wanted to protest, but Francis' tone left no room for argument, so he sighed and nodded. Truth be told, he was very tired.

"You can use my bed tonight," the first-mated offered, and without waiting for approval, he dragged him to his own cabin, adjacent to Antonio's but smaller than it. The moment he saw the appealing bed, Lovino sat heavily on it, letting out a content sigh. "Thank you," Francis smiled at him. "Thanks for saving Antonio's life."

Lovino made a face and hummed in reply.

"Good night." Francis left his cabin and rushed back to the captain's, almost fearing that his friend would stop breathing while he was away.

Once there, he woke Raúl up and sent him to his hammock downstairs. When he was alone with Antonio, he dragged his chair next to the bed, sat down, and took the Spaniard's hand with his.

"Oh boy," he sighed, pressing a soft kiss to his knuckles, "you are going to be very pissed off when you wake up."

* * *

 _AN: This... might be the last update in a while. I have life and a couple other projects for an event to deal with before I can come back to this. Just letting you know so you don't think I've abandoned it. I have all the intention of finishing this, long as it might be. The next chapter is fully planned out anyway, so by the time I actually get down to write it, it hopefully won't take me long. Thanks for understanding. n_n_


	8. Chapter VIII

_AN/ I'm back! It's been a hiatus of barely two months; I'm proud of myself. :'D Thank you for your patience! About this chapter, only one comment: unlike in the others, the language they're speaking all the time (unless it's written in italics and stated otherwise) is English. You'll understand why as soon as it starts. n_n (Also, it's the longest so far, and I think it's going to leave you with even more questions than you had before :P). Hope you like it!_

* * *

 **TIGHT ROPE**

 **Chapter VIII**

 **Fourteen years ago**

That had probably been the best boarding they had performed since he and his crew had first sailed under the Jolly Roger. The ship they had attacked wasn't particularly important or had an immensely valuable cargo, but to have taken it so easily, not a single casualty on their side or scratch on their precious vessel, was still an impressive feat.

Captain Alistair Kirkland watched from the side as his crew diligently carried all the stolen cargo to the _Neptune's Howl_ , absentmindedly cleaning blood off his cutlass. "We did good today," he commented. A barrel full of green apples was carried by his side and he grabbed a couple to eat later, keeping them in his coat's pockets for the moment.

By his side, Owen, his younger brother and second-in-command, hummed in agreement. "It was an easy prey. Though I had expected more resistance—the Spaniards have a reputation to live up to."

"These were sailors and merchants, not soldiers."

"Still—"

"Captain!" one of his men interrupted Owen. He had just come out of the interior of the ship and rushed to them, a worried expression on his face. "Captain, I think you'd better come see this."

Alistair raised an eyebrow in question, but nodded and sheathed his now clean blade. "Oversee this for me, will you?" he said to Owen before following his subordinate.

He was guided down to the lowest cargo room, which they had emptied almost completely. Another pirate waited for them there, an oil lantern in his hand. Without a word, he pointed at a dark corner. Frowning in confusion, Alistair took the lantern from his hand and moved closer to the corner.

There was a whine; then a growl.

Then, Alistair got close enough to see someone curled up. It was a boy in his teens (his exact age, he couldn't tell), skinny, covered in blood and visibly scared.

"Captain…?"

"Take the last couple of boxes," he ordered to his men. "Tell Owen to organize all the loot in the ship; I'll go in a minute."

They obeyed a bit reluctantly, and Alistair got to hear one whisper to the other "I told you we should've killed him" before they left with the boxes. He sat on the floor and placed the lantern in front of him. The boy winced, and Alistair wondered how long he'd been hiding there, away from any source of light.

"Alone at last," he smiled at the kid, trying to sound as friendly as possible. "What's your name? Were you stowed-away in the ship? You're all bloody—are you hurt?"

The boy curled up even more, hugging tightly his own knees, and didn't say a word. The one that did speak in a deep growl was his stomach. Alistair scoffed, amused.

"Are you hungry?" Not waiting for an answer, he pulled out one of the apples he had taken before and offered it to the kid. "Here, you can have it." Knowing he'd scare him if he moved closer, he put the apple on the floor and pushed it gently so it rolled across them.

The apple hit the boy's foot and stopped there, where it was eyed with mistrust by the receptor for a few seconds before hunger won the battle: he picked it up and, after an initial small bite, started to devour it.

"Gee, you were _starving_ ," Alistair chuckled, amazed by how quickly the fruit was gone. The boy had even eaten the seeds. "I've another one," he announced then, pulling the second apple out of his pocket. "If you want it, you have to come with me, okay?" He stood up, picking up the lantern, apple in hand, and he gestured with his head for the kid to follow him. "Come on, lad. I'm not gonna hurt you."

It took him a moment, but the boy complied and stood up (his legs were shaky, Alistair noted), walking to his side slowly and still not trusting him. He let him take the apple — it was gone just as fast as the first one — and, trying to show him that he would protect him, he gently put his arm around him, pressing him to his side and covering him with his long coat. The boy tensed at first, but eventually sensed his good intentions and relaxed; when they went outside, the sun blinded him and he clutched Alistair's shirt for support as he stumbled by his side.

"That's my ship," the captain said, pointing at his pride and joy. "It's called _Neptune's Howl_. We're going to cross over to it, aye?"

It was easier said than done. All the trust he had managed to earn vanished as soon as the boy spotted his pirate flag waving on top of the ship, and he needed to lay down all the weapons he carried (which weren't few) for the kid to agree to go with him; and even then it proved to be a titanic quest to help him cross, the boy clearly not used to it.

"The fuck is that?" were Owen's first words when they finally made it through.

"It's called a teenager, and it's basically a little person," Alistair replied. "I'll be in my cabin," he added, not giving his brother time to reply. "In the meantime, you're in charge: recover all my weapons from the other ship and make sure we're sent some food."

"Wai—Are you going to keep him?"

"Yes."

"You can't do that!"

"Then how come I am?"

He had time to see his desperate first-mate throwing his hands up in frustration and surrender before closing the door to his cabin behind him. "That was Owen, my younger brother," he said to the kid. "I've got other three little brothers. Arthur must be around your age. How old are you?" He looked down to see a pair of green eyes that stared back at him, no longer in fright, but with no distinguishable emotion in them. "… Are you a mute or something?"

There was no reply.

"Okay… Sit here." He patted his bed, and the kid obediently did as told. Alistair grabbed a jar with clean water and some rags, then knelt in front of him. "I'm not going to hurt you, okay? I'm just going to wash all that blood off you," he said softly. He made sure to move slowly, so that the kid could follow his every move and wouldn't get scared again. After wetting the cloths, he carefully took one of the boy's skinny arms (he deemed it wise to leave the face for last) and started to rub the dry blood off it. He soon realized that, besides a few bruises here and there, the kid was completely uninjured. The blood wasn't his. "Gee, did you kill someone?" he asked quietly.

Again, no answer.

And as he finished cleaning his face, he realized that maybe the mysterious boy didn't speak his language.

"Have you understood a single thing I've told you so far?" he asked. The lack of reaction was all the answer he needed. "Bollocks…" _The ship was Spanish, so… Let's try Spanish_ , he thought. It wasn't a language he was comfortable with, but he spoke the basics. Hopefully enough to get some answers. " _You_ — _Eh_ — _You is Spanish?_ "

At first, the boy didn't move a muscle, but then he nodded so, so slowly.

"Spanish it is," Alistair sighed in resignation. "Um… _I_ ," he put a hand on his chest, "Alistair. _You…_?" he pointed at the kid now.

"… 'Ntonio," the boy muttered, his voice dry and hoarse. Alistair could only imagine for how long he'd been hiding in that brig without talking to anyone.

"He speaks!" Alistair laughed. "Antonio, good. Nice to meet you," he smiled, friendly. "How old are you? _A-Age_?"

Antonio raised both hands with all the fingers stretched, then added four more.

Fourteen.

That was too young to look as if he'd been to Hell and back.

"Okay, Antonio. You're safe now. I'm not going to hurt you," Alistair said, softly. His Spanish wasn't good enough to express it, so he tried to convey the meaning with a kind tone and expression. "Are you hungry? Eh— _Hunger_?"

This time, Antonio nodded vigorously.

~{x}~{§}~{x}~

It was late when Alistair finally made it out of his cabin. Owen was waiting for him, smoking in silence, and the captain joined him without a word. The first-mate waited until his cigarette was finished to speak:

"How's the kid?" he asked, tossing the fag overboard.

"Sleeping." Alistair sighed and leant on the railing, staring at the dark sea. "He devoured the food I served him and then started yawning. I have no idea what he's been through in the last few days, but it surely was nothing good. This may be the first chance he's had at proper food and rest in who knows how long."

"He didn't look malnourished to me, though," Owen pointed out.

"He's not. He is skinny, but not malnourished. And look," he added, pulling a piece of fabric from his coat pocket. "This is the shirt he was wearing."

Owen took it and examined it quickly. "It's ruined because of all the blood," he concluded, "but it wasn't bad quality."

"That's what I thought."

"Where the hell did he come from?"

"I don't know. My Spanish is not nearly good enough to talk to him, and he doesn't seem to be much of a talker anyway. All I could get is that he's called Antonio and is fourteen years old."

"One year older than Arthur."

"Hmm."

"So, what do you plan to do?"

Alistair took a moment to answer. "Let's go back home. Maybe Arthur can get to him—his Spanish is way better than any of ours."

"And then?"

"I'll keep him here. Teach him everything I know."

"But—"

"I'm not going to abandon him, Owen. You haven't seen the look in his eyes. He desperately needs someone to help him."

"And why must it be you?"

"…"

"Alistair?"

"Because I'm the one who looked him in the eye."

~{x}~{§}~{x}~

Antonio was sleeping just as he had left him, wearing his own trousers (which were nowhere near as bloodstained as his shirt) and one of Alistair's clean shirts, which was too big for him. He was deep asleep, as Alistair had expected. He hadn't been surprised to find dark circles under the boy's eyes after cleaning the blood off his face.

Carefully, the captain sat on the bed next to his new protegee and brushed some strands of his messy, short hair off his forehead. It was damp and sticky, still some blood in it. "What happened to you?" Alistair muttered, pensive.

Antonio squirmed in dreams, his eyelids shut tightly, and whimpered.

Then, suddenly, he woke up with a shriek, slapped Alistair's hand away and stumbled to the opposite corner of the cabin, where he curled up, trembling.

Taken by surprise, Alistair needed a few seconds to react. When he did, he moved slowly, not wanting to scare Antonio more than he already was, and walked towards him with caution. The boy's breathing was quick and shaken, almost hyperventilating, and his eyes were open wide and full of terror. He was staring at the wall, though his gaze was lost, as if he didn't see what was in front of him, and mumbled in Spanish so quickly that Alistair didn't catch a single word.

"Antonio…?" Alistair asked, tentative, as he moved closer with short steps.

What startled Antonio out of his stupor was the cabin door slamming open and Owen storming inside, dagger in hand, screaming " _What the fuck is going on?!_ " The boy flinched in fear, screamed, and curled up some more, teary-eyed.

"For fuck's sake, Owen," Alistair growled at his brother, "I can take care of myself. Get out of here."

"But—"

" _Get out_ ," he snapped, glaring furiously.

Reluctantly, Owen put down the weapon and left, closing the door behind him. Alistair could have sworn he was cursing under his breath. The thought of scolding him briefly crossed his mind, but he discarded it in favour of looking after Antonio.

He was the focus of the kid's panicked gaze, now. His harsh words and tone toward Owen hadn't been missed, and he was being stared at with fright and mistrust.

"I— _Sorry_ ," Alistair said in Spanish, softly. He took a small step towards him, hands raised in an appeasing fashion. "I'm sorry. I'm not going to hurt you." How many times had he promised the same thing in the last few hours?

Antonio flinched again when he moved closer, pressing harder against the wall behind him, and Alistair stopped in his tracks. Deeming it impossible to reach him without having him die of fright, the pirate sat down on the spot and waited.

Simply waited.

Little by little, Antonio's body relaxed, and his breathing started to even. Eventually, he breathed out all his tension and started to sob, streams of tears pouring from his eyes.

"Antonio?" Alistair called him. When the boy looked at him, the captain open his arms in invitation.

The next second, Antonio was crawling to him in a hurry. Alistair cradled him on his lap and let him cry against his chest, holding the trembling body against him in a protective hug.

"It's okay, lad," he whispered against his hair. "You're safe now. Everything will be alright."

He hoped he was right.

~{x}~{§}~{x}~

Antonio was a fast learner. He didn't speak much and shied away from any form of physical contact, but his English was improving quickly under Arthur's tutelage (even though their first meeting had ended up in a brawl) and he obeyed Alistair's commands with diligence. He had quickly grown fond of the Scottish captain and followed him around wherever he went, accepting lessons from him and from him only. Alistair taught him dozens of different knots, everything that was to know about sailing, about the guiding stars; he gifted him a rapier and taught him how to use it (to his utter surprise, Antonio already had some practice in the matter).

The only problem the new cabin boy had was the nightmares.

It happened so often that Alistair gave him permission to sleep in his cabin so that, in the event of a panic attack at night-time, he could quickly go to him for comfort. When they finally could communicate with ease, the captain had attempted to find out exactly what Antonio had gone through, but the boy stubbornly refused to say anything in return to his inquiries, and he had eventually given up. Antonio would open up when he wanted to… _If_ he ever wanted to.

For the time being, acting as his guardian and teacher was all Alistair could do.

~{x}~{§}~{x}~

 **Two years later**

Antonio was on the front of the ship, resting on the railing, staring at Ibiza as they sailed toward it. The strong wind was messing his long hair, waving it in every direction and into his eyes, but he didn't seem to mind.

"You need a haircut," Alistair said as he joined him.

Antonio shook his head. "I like it long," he mumbled.

He had never been one to worry much about his appearance, but he had already made two things clear: one, his hair was never to be short; and two, he would never grow a beard. Odd choices, even more considering that he tried to emulate Alistair in many things and the captain did have short hair and a permanent goatee. But his reply every time he was asked was a simple shrug, and Alistair had given up on trying to understand his curious behaviour.

"Is there anything you'd like to do in Ibiza?" the captain asked.

"See Emma."

"The prostitute from the other time?" Alistair frowned, confused. "The one you didn't sleep with?"

Antonio nodded.

"You're a weird guy, did you know that?"

Antonio shrugged.

"Okay, whatever makes you happy. Anyway, you and Arthur are going to come with me first. We're doing some captain stuff."

Antonio hummed.

"I won't be the one to tell you how to live your life, but if you want to rule your own ship someday, you will need to talk. To give orders and all that."

Antonio shrugged again.

Alistair gave up. He had gotten quite good at that.

~{x}~{§}~{x}~

"Is that…? It is! H-Hey! Excuse me! Captain Kirkland?"

Alistair stopped walking when he noticed the fuss was about him. As a renowned pirate, he was used to being the centre of attention, but usually in a much more discrete and scared way; he certainly wasn't used to having his path cut by two excited young men.

"May I help you?" he asked, cocking an eyebrow in question.

"We—" started one of them, a pretty-faced blonde with a lame attempt at facial hair (he couldn't be much older than Antonio and Arthur).

"We want to join your crew!" the other interrupted, loud, his chest puffing out in self-confidence. He was well-built, presumably a couple of years older than the first one, and a tough guy. Alistair knew this because the bright sun was surely harming his red eyes and burning his albino skin, yet the boy didn't move a muscle as he waited for a response.

"Gil!" the first one hissed at him before addressing the captain again. "Please excuse him. My name is Francis Bonnefoi; this is Gilbert. We have nowhere to belong to and we thirst for adventure — we were wondering if maybe we could join your crew? We'd take any job!"

"You make a curious partnership," Alistair commented, surveying them with a calculating eye. "And he looks much more of an outcast than you do, _Mr Bonnefoi_."

Francis' smile froze, turning wary. "Does he?" he mumbled, instinctively taking a step back.

Alistair smirked, amused, and leant closer to whisper to him: "I wouldn't go around giving my surname so freely if I were you." But when he pulled away, the smile on his lips was friendly. He liked those two. They had the same raw potential he could sense in Arthur and Antonio. With a little bit of modelling and guiding, they'd shine in no time.

"What do you guys think?" he asked to the two teens behind him, who had watched everything in silence.

Arthur yawned, bored, and shrugged. "Do whatever you want. It's what you're best at," he grumbled.

Antonio, on the other hand, was staring intently at the two newcomers—or so thought Alistair. Then the Spanish boy walked closer, barely glancing twice at Gilbert, and the captain noticed that his now sharper glare was focused entirely on Francis.

"Hello there," Francis chuckled nervously, pushing some loose strands of golden hair out of his face. Clearly Antonio's apparently random animosity was the last thing he'd been expecting.

"You…" Antonio mumbled as he moved closer and closer, until he was glaring directly into Francis' eyes. His body was tense, in attack mode, and Alistair got ready to spring into action to stop a fight, were one to break out. But Antonio simply stated: "I don't like you," pushed Francis out of the way and walked away.

Astounded, Alistair watched him leave. It was the first time Antonio was so openly disgusted by someone, and he had no idea what the reason behind the boy's unfriendly attitude was.

"S-Sir?" Francis said, shy. By his side, Gilbert squirmed awkwardly.

"I do like you two," Alistair mumbled back, not parting his gaze from where Antonio had left. "I'll give you a chance to prove yourselves."

"And Antonio?" Arthur asked, trying to hide his worry towards his friend behind fake nonchalance.

"I'll talk to him."

~{x}~{§}~{x}~

He found Antonio in a small, empty cove, angrily tossing pebbles and small shells into the sea. The boy's expression was upset, but upon getting closer, Alistair noticed a glint of fear in his eyes, despite Antonio's clear efforts at keeping it under control.

"You're going to let them join the crew, aren't you?" Antonio affirmed more than asked before Alistair had the chance to say anything.

"Yes," he admitted easily. "Why don't you like Francis?"

Antonio tossed the last pebble in his hand with a little more rage and clenched his fists. "Bonnefoi," he simply said through gritted teeth.

"Yes? What about him?"

"They're all the same," he growled.

" _They_?"

"It doesn't matter."

"Okay," Alistair sighed, swallowing the need to keep inquiring. It would only make Antonio close himself some more, he knew it. _I wish you talked to me_ , he thought in concern. But he didn't say it. Instead, he walked closer, fighting back the urge to place a comforting hand on Antonio's shoulder (he'd be slapped away), and his voice was soft when he said: "If you _really_ don't want him to join, well… I'm not going to choose him over you."

Antonio seemed to deflate at those words, as if all his anger had suddenly vanished. Slowly, he shook his head. "You want him to join, and I understand and respect your decision," he mumbled. "Just… Don't expect me to get along with him."

"Alright, fair enough," Alistair laughed. He considered advising Antonio to give Francis a chance, because he had the feeling they weren't so different — _You two could make a kick-ass team_ — but decided against it. "I think we'd better go back," he said instead as he started walking. "Come on, son."

Antonio, who had started to walk with him, stopped abruptly at those words. Alistair still took a few more steps before realizing that he was leaving his protegee behind. "Why—?" he started to say as he turned to look at him. _Why aren't you coming?_ he had wanted to ask. But the words died in his throat when he saw the way Antonio was looking at him.

His green eyes were teary and open wide, full of a turbulent emotion Alistair couldn't decipher, and his mouth opened and closed, like a fish out of the water, as if he were trying to say something but didn't have the words.

"H-Hey, what is it?" he asked, shocked and confused and worried all at the same time.

Something snapped in Antonio and he started to blink rapidly, making a few stray tears leave his eyes and roll down his cheeks.

And then, suddenly, he ran to Alistair and tackled him into a tight hug, burying his face on his chest.

At first, Alistair didn't know how to react. In two years, Antonio had never once sought physical contact, a hug being the last thing on his list. To receive one all of a sudden was not something Alistair was ready for. When he finally came to his senses, he returned the hug a bit awkwardly. "Are you okay?" he asked softly, stroking Antonio's messy hair.

The boy nodded.

Alistair smiled.

~{x}~{§}~{x}~

The only person who got more upset than Antonio about the new additions to the crew was Owen. "This is a pirate ship, Alistair, not a fucking orphanage!" he yelled at his brother when he showed up with four teenagers behind him.

"It's a good thing they're not orphans, then," Alistair smiled back, cheeky.

"Well, I— _oof_ " started Francis before being effectively shut up by Arthur's elbow on his ribs.

"Besides, Owen, they're not kids," Alistair went on, patting his brother's shoulder. "And… I honestly don't give a shit what you think about this."

Owen whined and threw his head on his hands.

"I hate you so much."

~{x}~{§}~{x}~

Francis could only take it for a couple of months.

He had gotten used to the pirate life quite quickly and the _Neptune's Howl_ had become his home. All the crew had easily grown fond of him — he was charming and hardworking, after all. Even Owen had praised him once.

The only thing that bothered him was Antonio's hostility.

He had barely exchanged two words with the Spanish boy, and they hadn't been on good terms. Francis wanted to be his friend, he really did, but Antonio made it very difficult. Scratch that — he made it _impossible_. He avoided Francis like the plague, and when the circumstances forced them to be together, he simply ignored his presence.

It was exasperating, even more when Francis saw him with Gilbert. With Arthur, Antonio had already built the strong foundations of their friendship, based on time and effort, exactly what Francis aspired to obtain. But Gilbert? He had gotten to Antonio so fast that even Alistair had been surprised. It wasn't rare to see them together: working, resting, chatting, laughing. _Laughing_! According to Arthur, that was something he had only seen Antonio do once in the two years they'd been together.

Why lie, Francis was deadly jealous of Gilbert.

And when he couldn't take it anymore, he sprang into action.

He waited for one night he knew Antonio had guard duty, and managed to get the other sailor to let him do it instead (it was easy). The plan was simple: talk to him when they were alone and with no possible interruptions in the middle of the night.

The problem was that, as expected, Antonio wasn't thrilled _at all_. When he saw Francis instead of the sailor he was supposed to be with, he went red with rage.

"Hi," Francis smiled, nervous. If glares could kill… "I wanted to talk to you," he went on. Antonio didn't react and he sighed. "Why do you hate me so much?"

Antonio's response was ignoring him and walking past him.

This time, it was Francis' turn to get mad. "Hey," he growled, grabbing Antonio's arm with a strong grip before he could get away. "I'm talking to y—"

He barely saw the fist coming. It flew to his face so fast and unexpectedly that, by the time he understood what was happening, his nose was already resenting the punch. Yelling in pain, Francis let go of Antonio to take both hands to his almost broken nose.

"Don't touch me," Antonio hissed before turning on his heel to leave.

Francis groaned. He didn't like it, but it seemed he had no other option: he had to go with all he had. " _It's not the way you think it is!_ " he said in Spanish.

Antonio stopped on his tracks and glanced at him suspiciously form behind his shoulder. " _What?_ " he replied in his mother tongue, too, a bit surprised to hear Francis using it.

" _I… The day we met, I noticed you only started to glare at me after hearing my surname. But it's not the way you think it is_."

 _"Then what is it?_ "

Francis stopped rubbing his hurting nose and looked away. " _This is something only Gil knows. I haven't even told the captain_ ," he confessed, a bit embarrassed. " _It's not that big a secret, but it is… quite personal._ "

" _And you want to tell me because…?_ "

" _Because I want to be your friend. Look, just listen to me, okay? And when I'm finished, you can decide whether you keep hating me or not._ "

After a few seconds of hesitation, Antonio walked back to him. They sat together on the floor, and Francis started to talk.

As he spoke about him, he could see how Antonio's expression changed: from curiosity to amazement to, eventually, guilt. It was comforting to see in him emotions other than rage up close.

" _I didn't know that_ ," Antonio mumbled when Francis finished with his story. He suddenly felt _very_ guilty. " _Thanks for telling me_."

" _Thanks for listening_."

" _I'm sorry I punched you in the face_."

Francis laughed at that. " _It's okay. I shouldn't have touched you; I know you don't like it_." He paused for a moment. Then, just to confirm it, he asked: " _So, we're friends?_ "

Antonio nodded.

" _We're friends_."

~{x}~{§}~{x}~

To say that Antonio's sudden change of attitude toward Francis surprised everyone would be an understatement. Alistair was flabbergasted. Happy, but flabbergasted nonetheless. He couldn't get either of them to tell him what had happened, but he soon decided he didn't care that much and let it pass. What mattered was that Antonio had found two great friends, and that he was starting to smile and laugh with such frequency that the whole crew's spirits were also lifted.

Antonio surprised him once by borrowing a sailor's guitar and playing some tunes. "I haven't played in a long time," he apologized when they came out clumsy, yet it was still better than anything Alistair had ever heard his crew play.

Another time, when Antonio and Francis shared night duty, he saw them kissing. _Kissing_. Then they blushed and giggled and kissed again, and Alistair, feeling genuinely happy for them, retired back to his cabin before they saw him.

And yet he didn't realize the impact the arrival of Francis and Gilbert had had on Antonio until a few months later.

It happened around the time Antonio would make three years as a sailor in the _Neptune's Howl_. Alistair was relaxing on deck, satisfied after the last couple of successful attacks on merchant ships, free of worries, when Antonio appeared out of nowhere and, without a word, grabbed him by the sleeve and pulled. Equally confused and curious, Alistair let himself be dragged all the way to his cabin, and was surprised to find Arthur, Francis and Gilbert already there.

"What's going on?" he asked, and was unable to resist a joke: "Is this a mutiny?"

Antonio ignored him and sat on the floor. The others did the same, exchanging perplexed glances. Alistair guessed that Antonio had summoned ( _herded_ was more like it) all of them there, and no one knew what for. A dense silence surrounded them for what fell like an eternity.

And then Antonio started to talk, and talk, and talk. He spoke for a long time; spoke of his life before meeting them, of his family, of how he had ended up covered in blood and stowed-away in a brig. His audience listened carefully, avidly taking all the story in, and never once interrupted.

When he finished, Antonio buried his face between his knees, curling up, and choked back a sob. The others shared equally shocked looks with each other, no one knowing what to do or say.

"That… That was… Thanks for sharing it," Alistair finally said, breaking the heavy silence. The other three boys nodded in agreement. "That Santiago—"

"I'm going to kill him," Antonio interrupted him, his voice suddenly dark and cold. "I'm going to make him pay."

Alistair wanted to reply something, but Francis was faster:

"Of course you are," he said, darkly as well. "And I'll help you. That's a promise."

"You can count on me, too," Gilbert proclaimed then, serious.

"I'm up, too," Arthur joined, ignoring his brother's warning stare.

Alistair sighed. All the attention was on him now. "This is not the path I'd like for you to follow," he said, "but I know I won't make you change your mind, so all I'll do is wish you luck. But…" his expression softened, "thanks for trusting us so much."

Weakly, Antonio smiled back at him.

~{x}~{§}~{x}~

When Alistair deemed Arthur and Antonio were ready to fly free, his new goal became to capture two ships and let them finally be their own captains. It wasn't a surprise that they chose Gilbert and Francis as their respective first-mates.

"It's not nice to play favourites," Owen said once to Alistair.

The captain gasped, offended by the accusation.

"Come on, Alistair, both the twins and I know that Arthur is your favourite brother."

"That's not true! I dislike all of you equally."

"And we all know that Antonio is you favourite person on this ship."

Alistair gasped again, but didn't deny it.

 _Maybe I AM playing favourites_ , he thought later on, as he prepared the crew to attack a ship that'd be just _perfect_ for Antonio. At that point, he couldn't deny that he did dearly love the young Spaniard, whom he had grown to consider as family. Was it wrong that he wanted the best for him?

He didn't think about it for too long, though, because soon the attack started.

It was a relatively easy victory. The captured ship was a Spanish brigantine called _Conquistador_ , which Antonio renamed _El Diablo_. It was towed to Ibiza, where Antonio started to recruit some sailors; and later, his first raid as captain was aiding the _Neptune's Howl_ against a stronger ship, one that was passed to Arthur once it was captured. Arthur, always a poetic one, changed _Stanhope_ for _The Mermaid's Rose_.

And then it was time to let them go.

"I bought a guitar for Antonio," Alistair said to Owen as he paced back and forth his cabin. "I don't know what to get Arthur — any suggestions?"

"A placard that reads _Favourite brother_?" the first-mate suggested, not even looking at him.

"Oh for fuck's sake, Owen, stop whining about that. You're getting the _Neptune's Howl_ when I retire."

"I'm _what_?!"

Alistair stopped dead on his tracks when he heard the disbelief in his brother's voice. "You—You're getting the _Neptune's Howl_ when I retire," he repeated, a little slower this time.

"Wha—Why didn't you tell me before?"

"I thought it was obvious!"

"It clearly wasn't," Owen muttered, a bit embarrassed. Then something hit him. "Wait, what do you mean _when you retire_?"

"I mean exactly that. I don't plan to do this forever. I'll still stay active for some time, mostly to keep an eye on those two—"

"And to get a percentage of their loots."

"—and to get a percentage of their loots," he admitted easily. "Hey, if you want to spend the rest of your life in a mansion not doing shit, you need money," he stated, raising his hands innocently as if saying, _I didn't make the rules_.

"Alright," Owen rolled his eyes. "So… How long till you leave for good?"

"I don't know. One year, maybe two? Three tops."

"And you're leaving your ship to me?" he asked, uncertainly.

"Of course! I wouldn't entrust it to anyone else."

"Oh. I-I don't know what to say."

"How about a suggestion about what I could get Arthur?" Alistair smiled, cheeky.

Owen snorted.

~{x}~{§}~{x}~

 **Two and a half years later**

It was a cool night. From the deck of _El Diablo_ , Antonio stared at Ibiza, which lived an everlasting party. Even from there he could hear drunkards singing, and sometimes he could even tell when a fight had broken out.

"You don't join the fun?" Alistair asked, joining him. They were alone in the ship. Docked next to it was the _Neptune's Howl_ ; and, beside it, _The Mermaid's Rose_. Antonio knew that, after him, it'd be Arthur's turn to receive Alistair's visit.

"Maybe later," was his mumbled reply.

"Alright."

They fell into a comfortable silence for a few minutes, until Alistair broke it again:

"I left you a parting gift in your cabin."

"Thanks."

"… Are you nervous?" Alistair asked, noticing how Antonio was fidgeting with his shirt's cuffs.

"A bit, yes," Antonio confessed. "I'm scared I won't do it well without you here."

"Of course you will!" Alistair reassured him, squeezing his shoulder in support. "You've got Francis to help you. I know you two will do great."

Antonio smiled weakly, grateful for those words. "I hope I won't let you down."

"I know you won't. You've done great these past two years; in fact, it's time I leave. If I keep looking after you and Arthur like a mother hen, I'll only be a bother. You two are—"

Before he could finish his line, Antonio pulled him into a tight hug. Alistair laughed breathlessly and patted his back, feeling a bit nostalgic; nostalgic over the little boy he had rescued once. Because the person in his arm was no longer a boy, no. He was hugging a grown-up man (Antonio must've been twenty-six already, if he was not mistaken), a proper adult whom he had practically raised.

"Thanks for everything you've done for me," Antonio mumbled. "I don't know how I can repay you."

Alistair smiled. "Keep fighting," he said. "Live

"And come visit me sometime."

~{x}~{§}~{x}~

When Antonio walked into his cabin, there was a package on his bed. Alistair's gift. Although he was still a bit emotionally shaken from their farewell, he opened it to reveal a brand-new coat. It was good quality — _must've been expensive_ — and was an intense red.

Antonio loved it.

He threw it on him, glad to verify that it fit him like a glove. Alistair sure knew what to gift him, he thought as he eyed his guitar. He would miss the old man.

It was then when he saw a small note in the remains of the package:

 _Become the terror of the seas_

 _Best, Alistair_

A small made it to his lips when he read it.

"Don't worry. I will," he promised to the empty room.

The hunt had just begun.

* * *

 _AN/ Just so we're clear: Alistair is Scotland, Owen is Wales, and the two unnamed twins are the Irelands. And kudos to whoever knows why the previous names of Antonio and Arthur's ships are those. ;)_


	9. Chapter IX

_AN: Back to the present! (And back to Spanish as the main language.) This chapter was going to be longer, but it was being a tremendous pain to write and I'm sick of it :) Hopefully you like it more than I do =_=_

* * *

 **TIGHT ROPE**

 **Chapter IX**

When Antonio woke up, the first thing he saw was Francis' face hovering over him. He was blurry, and the sound of his voice calling his name sounded distant. "Fran…" he managed to mumble through dry lips as he slowly came back to his senses.

"Antonio!" Francis sighed in relief. "Merciful heavens, you're awake! Hey, take it easy. You've been out for a couple of days."

"… What happened…?" he asked, blinking slowly as he tried to get used to the light.

"We clashed with the Turk. You fought him. Do you remember any of that?"

Yes, he did. Brief flashes of his duel against Adnan crossed his mind — but he didn't recall the outcome. "Did I lose?" he muttered.

"Not quite." As he explained, Francis slowly helped him sit up, placing a few cushions behind his back to support him, and handed him a glass of water that Antonio drank avidly. "I wouldn't say there was a winner this time. He hurt you badly, but so did you: I don't know whether he survived or not, but he didn't leave the ship on his own foot. He was bleeding a lot."

"I'm lucky to be alive, aren't I?" Antonio said quietly. After moving, the covers had slid off him, and now he could see all the bandages crisscrossing his abdomen and part of his chest.

"You're _very_ lucky," Francis nodded. "But you still need to rest," he warned. "I know you're going to hate it, but don't do anything stupid until you recover. Please."

"Okay," he sighed. At the moment, he didn't have it in himself to argue. "Anything else I should know? Where are we going?"

"To Alistair's. Don't protest," he added quickly before Antonio could complain. "You need to rest somewhere safe and with healthier conditions than a pirate ship, and right now Alistair is our only option."

Francis was right, and Antonio knew it. His tired gaze travelled across his bandages and he nodded. "Fine," he agreed. He didn't like the idea of leaving the Mediterranean and sailing up to the British Isles, but it's not like he had many options. Besides, there'd be no point in arguing: they were probably halfway there already. "How's the rest of the crew? How are you?"

"Oh, I'm fine, don't worry about me," Francis smiled, nonchalant. "Barely got a scratch," he added, rubbing his injured arm. "About the crew… Well, we did lose a few men." He grabbed a list of names from Antonio's desk and started to read: "Luis, Miguel, José—the short one, not the tall one—, Gregorio, Felipe…"

He said a few more names, but Antonio was no longer listening. His mind had gotten stuck on a name. "Did—Did you say Gregorio?" he asked when Francis finished reciting his list. "The doctor?"

"… yes…"

"But then…" He frowned in confusion and slid a hand over his bandaged abdomen. "Then who did this?"

"Ah, that's… That's a funny story," Francis chuckled nervously. "Promise me you're not going to freak out."

"Francis…" Antonio practically hissed, his eyes narrowing into a glare. "Who was it?"

~{x}~{§}~{x}~

Lovino sighed, bored, as he stared into the sea. The fishing rod in his hand remained as still as it had been for the past hour and a half. By his side, Raúl exclaimed in delight when something bit his bait.

"You won't catch anything with that attitude," the pirate said as he pulled a fish out of the water and dropped it in his almost full bucket.

"Is that so?"

"It is! You gotta put some passion in what you do if you want to succeed!"

Lovino snorted at those words, but couldn't hide a smile. Raúl's optimism and energy were contagious.

After the battle against the Turkish pirates, when Lovino had earned some freedom and the respectable position of the ship's doctor, Raúl had taken it upon him to become his mentor. He had shown him around the ship, teaching him the most basic chores and shielding him from other crewmates' curious (and sometimes hostile) glances. Francis had been way too busy playing the role of captain to look after Lovino, so in the end Raúl had become his biggest ally (friend, even) aboard _El Diablo_.

"It's not that I'm not catching anything because I'm gloomy — I'm gloomy because I'm not catching anything," he retorted.

Raúl laughed at that. "Well…" he started to counter.

But then there was a loud noise that seemed to come from the captain's cabin, followed by some unintelligible cursing, and it caught their attention. There was a bang, some screaming, and then the door was slammed open and Antonio stumbled outside. The bright sunlight blinded him for a moment and he recoiled, but soon after his piercing glare was scanning the deck.

Before his gaze landed on him, Lovino already knew it was him who the captain was looking for.

"You," Antonio growled when he finally spotted the former prisoner and walked towards him in clumsy strides. Behind him rushed Francis, who had clearly failed at stopping the captain from leaving his bed, with a worried expression on his face.

"When did you wake up?" Lovino asked, unfazed by the Spaniard's enraged stance.

"You—" Antonio hissed.

"Not even five minutes ago," Francis answered. Cautiously, he placed a hand on the captain's shoulder in a futile attempt at calming him down.

"You—" Antonio started, only to be interrupted again:

"Then you shouldn't be walking around so freely. Much less under the sun."

Those words only seemed to anger Antonio some more. "Hey," he growled, taking a step towards him. "Don't tell me what to—"

Before he could complete the line, his eyes rolled back and he collapsed on Francis' arms.

"Do?" Lovino finished for him, smiling a bit smugly.

"Sorry about that," Francis grunted as he battled against Antonio's dead weight. "I'll take him back—Raúl, please come help me, he's heavy—back inside."

Raúl hurried to do as told, and together with Francis they carried the captain to his cabin. Lovino stayed behind for a moment to order the rods and then followed them.

He had the feeling he'd have some stitching to do.

~{x}~{§}~{x}~

The second time Antonio opened his eyes it was much darker. The last rays of sunshine entered through his cabin's window, tinting the ceiling a pastel orange, and the soft rocking of the ship invited him to go back to sleep. From outside came the sound of the men finishing their daily tasks and getting ready for the night.

 _You're the captain_ , a voice whispered in Antonio's head. _You should be overlooking_.

Groaning, he pushed the covers off him and rolled to the edge of the bed.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you," a voice said before he could stand up, and Antonio froze in place, suddenly realizing he wasn't alone.

Lovino was sitting next to the window, reading a book no doubt taken from Antonio's small collection. It was hard to see him due to the backlight, but his posture was clearly relaxed, very different from the other times they'd met.

"You almost snapped your stitches before," the Italian went on, not even bothering to look away from the book. "Make it easier for the both of us and don't move for a while." His eyes flickered for a moment to Antonio and he added: "It's a nice tattoo you got there, by the way."

Antonio instinctively took a hand to his abdomen, feeling protective even though it was covered by the bandages (but, it seemed, not destroyed by the injury). Alistair had always been heavily inked, and Antonio had wanted to emulate him. "It has to be something important to you," the Scottish captain had told him. Then he had barely had to think about it to make his choice.

"What is it with you and bulls anyway?" Lovino asked, glancing at him from behind the pages.

Indeed, his one and only tattoo was a fierce, broad bull, ready to attack, different in form but not in meaning to the one on his pirate flag.

It was Francis who had designed it, only a little before they captured _El Diablo_. He had kept the classic Jolly Roger, but it was reduced to a corner — all the attention was directed to the red silhouette of a charging bull.

"I like bulls," Antonio snarled in reply to Lovino's question.

"… Yeah, no kidding," he mumbled back, eying him with mistrust. He clearly suspected there was something else behind it, but decided not to pry and resumed his reading.

"Francis said I'd be dead if it weren't for you," Antonio said then, radically changing the topic.

"He wasn't lying."

"Why?"

"Why what?"

Antonio frowned, irritated. Lovino knew exactly what he was being asked; he just wanted to hear the proud captain saying it. "Why did you save me?" he gave in. There was no answer. Antonio insisted: "You hate me. Why would you save my life?"

Lovino slammed the book shut and stared at him, serious. "I believe in redemption," he said. "And second chances."

" _Redemption_?" Antonio scoffed. "You surely don't expect me to quit piracy because of this."

"Dreaming is free, Carriedo. Why do you do this anyway?"

Antonio stilled. His eyes scanned Lovino's face, which was filled with genuine curiosity, and for what seemed an eternity a dense silence settled on the cabin. The sun disappeared behind the horizon, leaving them in the dark.

And then he answered, his voice cold:

"I want to kill a man," he said with eerie calm. "Until I do, like it or not, this is my life."

"You want to kill a man," Lovino repeated slowly. "Who? Why?"

"That's none of your business," Antonio replied, smiling dangerously at him.

"Alright," Lovino snorted. "Keep it to yourself. I don't care."

"Fine. I don't care about you either."

"Great."

The childish argument might have gone on for a little longer, but thankfully Francis walked in on that very moment and prevented it. He carried a tray with a bowl on it, which he gave to Antonio. "Dinner," he said with a smile. "A simple soup, for starters. Lovino said you shouldn't eat solid for a while."

"Did he now?" Antonio growled, glaring at Lovino but accepting the food nonetheless. He was starving.

Francis' gaze flew from Antonio to Lovino and back, as if he were only then noticing the tense atmosphere. "Is there any problem?" he asked, wary.

"Not at all," Lovino replied before Antonio could say anything. "I was just leaving." He jumped to his feet and walked to the door, taking the book with him. "If you need me," he added before walking out, "let me know."

Antonio waited until the sound of Lovino's footsteps got lost among the other noises on deck. "How long was I alone with him?" he asked then, frowning.

"I don't know," Francis answered, a bit taken aback by the question. "A couple hours, maybe three?"

"That's a long time."

"So?"

"He could've stabbed me or something."

" _Stabbed you_? Why would he _stab_ you after having saved your goddamn life?" Francis chuckled in incredulity, amazed by the lack of logic in his captain's statement.

Antonio groaned, sulky, and finished his soup. He knew Francis was right: if Lovino wanted him dead, he could have simply let him die. It'd be stupid to kill him after having put all that effort into saving him. And Lovino wasn't stupid. Impulsive to the point of recklessness, yes; but not stupid.

Francis' hand found his shoulder and squeezed in a comforting manner. "I know you're not thrilled by owing Lovino your life," he said. "But I wasn't going to let you die just like that."

"Maybe you should have," Antonio mumbled, deflated.

"Don't — Don't go that way," Francis almost pleaded, sitting next to him and pulling him into a hug. Antonio didn't resist; he simply flopped against him like a cloth doll. "You can't die yet. You've got someone to kill, remember?"

Antonio clenched his fists. His injury hurt; his tattoo itched. The thirst for revenge swelled inside him, returning some vitality to him.

"Yes," he muttered darkly into Francis' embrace. "Yes, I remember."

~{x}~{§}~{x}~

The following days passed slowly and without mishaps. Antonio spent most of his time in bed, slowly recovering from his injury. Eventually, Lovino gave him permission to stand up and walk around, but always with someone supervising, and never for too long. "I won't stitch you up again if you keep idiotically reopening your wound," he had snapped at Antonio after he had protested.

Grumbling, and encouraged by a stern glare from his first-mate, the captain had agreed.

That didn't mean he was happy with the whole deal.

"I hate the way he looks at me now," he growled at Francis as he helped him walk around his cabin. "Such superiority in his eyes. He looks at me and I can tell he's thinking, _If it weren't for me you'd be six-feet under_. I can't stand it."

"I mean, he's not _wrong_ ," Francis shrugged it off.

"Not helpful," Antonio protested.

"Your idea of being helpful is joining in your sulking against Lovino," Francis replied, "and I'm sorry, but I don't plan to do that. Like it or not, you owe him your life — and he has every right to feel superior, considering how you treated him before. You must give it to him: he's got the moral high ground."

"Whatever. I'm no angel; I never pretended to be. If _he_ wants to pretend, then good for him. But I think I'm allowed to dislike the way he shows it off."

Francis rolled his eyes. "You know, sometimes you're way too sensitive for a pirate."

"Look who's talking."

"I'm sensitive, but at least I balance it with sensibility," Francis replied. "And anyway I don't complain half as much as you do."

"He just gets easily on my nerves, the goddamn princeling."

"Come on, you'll survive." Francis patted his back supportively as he guided him back to bed, where they sat together. "It'll only take us a couple of days to reach Wales."

"I can survive Lovino for two more days," Antonio sighed. Then he processed the rest of Francis' words. He frowned. "Wait, Wales? I thought we were going to Alistair's?"

"Yes. He settled down in Wales."

"I thought he'd gone to Scotland."

"He told us a thousand times that he'd rather stay in the south of the British Isles. Did you ever listen to him when he spoke?"

"… sometimes…"

Captain and first-mate shared a knowing look.

"Alistair is going to kill me, isn't he?"

"Maybe Lovino saving your life was a futile effort after all."

~{x}~{§}~{x}~

As Francis had predicted, they reached Wales in just two days. He stood at the front of _El Diablo_ , watching in excitement as they sailed closer to shore. Unlike Arthur, who visited his brother often, Antonio had never once dropped by, and Francis had long wanted to meet Alistair again and see his new lair.

Although _lair_ didn't seem to be the most appropriate word. When he finally spotted it, he wasn't sure at first that it was actually Alistair's home until he recognized his Jolly Roger waving on top of the roof. He was expecting a big mansion, sure, but what stood on top of the hill was closer to a castle. It was big enough to house both Antonio's and Arthur's crews at the same time, and maybe another if needed.

Why the old man needed so much space, Francis did not know.

The ship sailed towards the private dock on the beach, from where stone path led all the way up to the mansion. A lone figure stood at the edge of the pier, waving at them, and when they got closer, Francis was pleased to recognize Matthew.

He was the youngest of the Kirkland clan, and allegedly Alistair's favourite relative. Francis had no idea in which way Matthew and his twin Alfred were related to the other Kirklands — he wasn't even sure that they were _actually_ related, knowing first-hand the fondness Alistair had for strays. Either way, Matthew was a kind boy whom everybody was fond of. He'd been rightfully declared "too soft for the noble art of piracy", so he'd stayed with Alistair after he retired (much to the satisfaction of both), and Francis had missed him. He really liked the kid. _No longer a kid, though_ , he considered as he waved back with a smile. Already in his late teens, Matthew could already be considered a man.

" _Hello, Mattie!_ " he called when they were close enough. " _I take it Alistair expects us?_ "

" _He saw your ship and asked me to come greet you!_ " Matt yelled back. " _He told me to tell Antonio that he's the most ungrateful brat he's ever had the misfortune to meet and that he better have a good reason to show up now out of the blue!_ "

Francis smiled, easily picturing the Scottish retired pirate grumbling those words yet unable to hide a thrilled smile. Alistair might have been one of the worst pirates ever to sail the Mediterranean, but he was also incredibly soft when it came to Antonio.

" _That… That_ is _a good reason_ ," Matthew admitted, paling when the Spanish captain was helped off the ship and he caught sight of the bandages under his shirt. " _Are you alright?_ "

" _I'll survive_ ," Antonio smiled at him. " _Unless Alistair murders me the moment I set foot in his house_ ," he added, betraying a certain nervousness.

" _He won't_ ," the boy assured, though he didn't sound very certain himself.

Matthew guided them on the way up. The crew, eager to reach the safeness of the castle, climbed behind him at a great speed, and soon Francis and Antonio were left behind. The captain was having a hard time with the hike and his pace was slow, even though he was leaning most of his weight on Francis.

"We can stop for breath if you need to," the first-mate offered, already knowing that his suggestion would be refused.

"I'm fine," Antonio panted. "I'll take proper rest once we get there."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes. Let's hurry."

A quiet smile made it to Francis' face.

Antonio, it seemed, was eager to meet Alistair, too.

~{x}~{§}~{x}~

Alistair had received him with a glare and an unamused expression. His emerald eyes gleamed with the same briskness Antonio remembered — it reminded him of the feared pirate captain he had known, distracted him from the greying hair and chubbier body. Neither had said anything when they met face to face. Antonio had remained quiet, leaning on Francis for support, trying not to show the toll the hike had taken on him; and Alistair, his gaze never leaving him, had gestured for Matthew to go to him and had whispered a command in his ear.

Obedient as always, the boy had guided the captain and first-mate to a room where Antonio could rest.

And now Antonio was alone in said room, lying in bed, staring at the ceiling in thought. Despite the way the first meeting had gone, he knew — or perhaps he _hoped_ — that Alistair would eventually show up to talk. That in itself was good: Antonio loved him dearly, knew he had disappointed the old man, and reckoned he owed him an apology. The bad part was that Alistair was as unpredictable as always, and Antonio wasn't sure in which way he'd be approached.

When the door to his room opened and he recognized Alistair's footsteps walking to him, he muttered an unsure "hey". He suddenly felt like a child again.

" _Hey_ ," Alistair mimicked, though with more certainty. He grabbed a chair, placed it backwards next to the bed, and sat on it straddling it, arms resting on the backrest. " _Francis told me you were hurt badly_." His voice sounded just like Antonio remembered: commanding, coarse from years of barking orders, yet still warm when he addressed his former protegee. " _What happened, exactly?_ "

" _Had a misencounter with the Turk_ ," Antonio answered, relieved. He had really feared that Alistair would behave coldly with him, or maybe not even talk to him at all. With some effort, he sat up and pulled up his shirt to show Alistair the bandages. " _He cut me. But I cut him, too, so we're even_."

" _Hm_." Curious, Alistair leant forward, squinting. " _Those are good bandages. Did you get yourself a proper doctor?_ "

"… _sort of_ …"

" _Sort of?_ "

" _He's a somewhat proper doctor, but_ I _didn't get him. It's complicated_."

" _Yeah, no kidding. But he saved your life_."

Antonio sighed. " _Yes, so it seems_."

" _I'll ask Francis to introduce us. I should thank him_."

" _What for?_ "

" _Saving your life, obviously_."

" _Oh._ " Antonio shifted uncomfortably on the bed, nervously fidgeting with the sheets. " _Aren't you_ — _? I thought_ … _I thought you'd be angry with me._ "

" _Angry?_ " Alistair repeated. He looked amused. " _What for?_ "

" _I haven't visited you, not even once, unlike Arthur. I've only come now because you were the only option I had, and because Francis had already set course_."

Alistair snickered. " _I appreciate the honestly,_ " he said, " _but no, I'm not angry. Upset, maybe. But not angry. You're old enough to do what you want_."

" _I'd like to come visit, and I'd do it often_ ," Antonio kept apologizing, " _but I don't want to leave the Mediterranean for so long. You know my motives_."

" _I know your motives_ ," Alistair nodded. " _I don't share them, though. Still with your vengeful crusade, then?_ "

Antonio nodded.

" _After all this time… You really can't let it go_."

Antonio shook his head.

" _Killing him won't end the nightmares_."

" _No_ ," he admitted. " _But I'll feel better_."

Alistair bobbed his head. This time, Antonio could acutely feel the disappointment in his gaze. " _You're so obsessed with your past you forget about your present_ ," the former captain said, a sad tone in his voice. " _You're going to end up hurting those who love you_."

The message was clear: _you're already hurting me_.

Antonio clenched his fists, blinked fast to stop some treacherous tears that threatened to spill. " _I'm sorry_ ," he mumbled.

" _So am I_."

Alistair's eyes were now filled with pity. It hurt more than the disappointment.

" _I'd better go back to your crew_ ," the Scot changed topic, standing up. " _I told Mattie to organize them in the rooms, but who knows if they'd even listened to him. That kid has such small presence he's practically invisible_."

If that were the case, Antonio was certain that his crew would get an earful for having so blatantly ignored Alistair's beloved little sibling… or cousin… or whatever he was.

" _Alistair?_ " he called just as he was about to leave the room.

The old captain stopped in the doorframe and glanced back at him. " _Yes?_ "

Antonio managed a smile, shy and small, yet honest. " _It's good to see you_."

Alistair smiled back. " _You too, boy._

" _You too_."

* * *

 _AN: Everyone's scared of Alistair when he's one big softie~_ _I changed the cover pic; you can see Antonio's Jolly Roger on the new one. And... I hope the next chapter behaves better than this one. u_u Thanks for reading and putting up with my very inconsistent posting schedules!_


	10. Chapter X

_AN: Look who's back! :D My brain decided not to do English today, so editing this was fun u_u If you spot any mistakes, please do tell. Hope you like it anyway n_n"_

* * *

 **TIGHT ROPE**

 **Chapter X**

 _Bonnefoi_.

That single word had been playing on repeat in Lovino's head for an hour already.

Francis had showed up in his bedroom a little after Lovino had been shown to it and had insisted that he accompanied him and Alistair for a tour of the mansion. Lovino had accepted — he wasn't thrilled about following Kirkland around like a duckling (after all, the pirate had been the protagonist of most horror tales in his childhood), but Francis' enthusiasm was contagious and, why lie, he did want to take a look around the castle.

It had been better than expected, until Alistair had taken them into the biggest room.

"Oh, you have a _ballroom_!" Francis had squeaked in delight. Then he had danced his way around, chanting " _un, deux, trois; un, deux, trois_ " as he moved with grace. Lovino had thought that he was a great dancer (yet still refused him, embarrassed, when Francis tried to make him dance with him).

And then Alistair had snarled something at him.

Lovino wasn't fluent in English, and the Scotsman's thick accent made it nearly impossible for him to understand anything. He had, however, caught one word: _Bonnefoi_.

It sounded _so_ familiar, yet Lovino couldn't quite place it. The tour had ended a while ago, but he had kept wandering around, getting more frustrated as time went by and his stupid brain wouldn't recall. So focused on the issue, he didn't realize where his steps were driving him to.

And he wouldn't have realized at all, had it not been for the music.

Lovino stopped dead on his tracks, effectively kicked out of his thoughts and back into reality when the melodic strumming of a guitar reached him from behind a half-open door. The first thing that surprised him was hearing such beautiful music in a nest of pirates. The second thing was noticing that it was Carriedo's room.

Curiosity took him over: Lovino sneaked closer to the door and peeked inside.

Antonio was sat on his bed, a beautiful guitar resting on his lap, and he was playing it with ease. His fingers slid with mastery over the strings, drawing beautiful sounds from the instrument, and he bobbed his head to the rhythm, sometimes humming along. He looked like a completely different person from the dark pirate captain Lovino knew.

"You should know better than to snoop from behind closed doors," Antonio said suddenly, startling Lovino. "It's bad manners."

Embarrassed, Lovino walked into the room. "The door wasn't closed," he replied. "And I wasn't snooping."

"Ah, you weren't?"

"No."

"Then what were you doing?"

This time, Lovino's embarrassment manifested in the form of a blush. "Listening," he answered, immediately wishing his voice had sounded a little less weak.

Antonio snorted. "Okay." He hadn't stopped playing, seemingly unfazed by the interruption, and Lovino found himself following with interest the movements of his hands. They played the guitar with reverential care and such a skill that, for a moment, Lovino forgot that those same hands were stained with the blood of dozens of people.

"Where did you learn how to play?" he asked quietly, afraid that the music might stop if he spoke too loudly.

"Would you believe me if I said that I taught myself?"

"No."

"Why not? Doubt my honesty just because I'm a terrible pirate?" Antonio said in mockery.

"No. You're just too good to be self-taught."

Antonio raised an eyebrow at the compliment, and the start of a smile that had been on his face for a while grew into a proper grin. "How observant of you," he jeered.

And then, much to Lovino's surprise, he actually answered his question.

"I learnt when I was a kid. I made friends with an Austrian musician who was staying in town; he said I had talent and taught me for free."

"An Austrian musician?" Now it was time for Lovino to jest: "Who was it, Edelstein?"

What he wasn't expecting was a completely unironic reply:

"Roderich Edelstein, yes. Why, do you know him?"

Lovino's jaw fell. He couldn't believe his ears. Slowly, he said: "Roderich Edelstein is probably the most famous and respected musician in Europe as of today."

"Is that so?" Antonio mumbled. It seemed to genuinely be breaking news to him. "Well, that's good. I'm happy for him. He deserves it."

"So…" Lovino cleared his throat. That conversation had reanimated his curiosity, which he had tried to keep at bay for a few days now, and seeing that Antonio seemed to be in a good mood, that might be his chance to get some answers. "I suppose he's not the man you want to kill?" he asked casually.

For the first time since Lovino had been listening, Antonio missed a note. The guitar whined, and the pirate sent him a glare that, while not the deadliest he had been subjected to, still managed to send a shiver down the boy's spine. And yet, Antonio's voice was calm when he spoke:

"He's probably the only person from my past that I _don't_ want to see dead." He stopped playing for good and, before Lovino could keep interrogating him, it was him who fired the next question: "Why do you do medicine?"

Taken by surprise, Lovino gave his default answer almost by instinct: "It's a hobby."

"A hobby, really?"

"Yes."

"Weird hobby for a merchant."

"It's not."

"Rich people hunt or throw expensive parties just to rub on other rich people's faces how much richer they are. Rich people don't have _medicine_ as a hobby."

"Well, I do," Lovino snapped. His legs were shaking, and Antonio's intense stare on him wasn't helping.

"You do, indeed," Antonio muttered. His gaze narrowed, focusing intently on Lovino, and the boy didn't like it one bit. He felt like he was being read like an open book. After what felt like an eternity of deep silence, the guitar no longer filling that void, the captain finally leant back, drummed his fingers on his instrument, and dropped the last question:

"Who did you lose?"

Lovino recoiled, as if the question had been a physical hit. He clenched his fists to stop his hands from shaking — they still remembered all too well the feel of Feli's little hands clasped around them, his ears could still hear his little brother's sobs, his heart still broke at the sad look on Feli's face when the child, only seven back then, had faced death for the first time.

A single chord played on the guitar snapped him back to the present. Antonio was still staring at him, but now with a satisfied expression on his face, as if he were pleased that he had been correct in his assumptions.

It angered Lovino. He took a deep breath and gathered all the rage he could conjure (a lot, in that moment).

"It's none of your business," he spat, furious, before storming out of the room.

As he stomped away, he could hear Antonio's amused laugh behind him.

~{x}~{§}~{x}~

It was dark outside.

Matthew had brought him dinner before, apologizing on Alistair's behalf for not being there. " _He said he wanted to keep an eye on your crew and make sure they grasp who rules here—literal words_." Then he had stayed, claiming that it was too sad to eat alone.

Antonio had asked about Alfred. Matthew had sighed. " _He sailed with Owen and the twins to the Caribbean. We haven't seen them in months. I miss him_ ," he admitted, making a sad face.

" _They'll all be alright_ ," Antonio had reassured him. He didn't have any siblings, but Matt's worry wasn't entirely foreign to him. He'd feel like that, too, if he were separated from Francis.

That had been hours ago.

Everyone was in bed now, regaining strength.

Yet Antonio couldn't sleep.

His mind kept drifting back to earlier that day, when he had caught Lovino listening to him playing his guitar.

At first, when he had noticed the boy behind the half-lidded door, he had felt defensive. That music wasn't meant to be heard by others. But he had masked his anger behind a polite remark; one he had hoped would embarrass Lovino and make him leave. The boy, however, had taken it as an invitation to walk inside, and Antonio wasn't sure what to make of the conversation that had followed.

On the one hand, he was genuinely happy for Roderich. The news of his well-deserved fame across Europe had stirred some of the few truly happy memories from his childhood: the weight of a guitar on his lap, his fingers clumsily strumming the strings, Roderich's stern voice correcting his mistakes. Back then, all those years ago, music had become an escape route from reality that he still took in the present — he was forever grateful to Roderich for giving it to him.

On the other hand, he didn't like one bit that Lovino seemed interested about his past.

 _It's not yours to know_ , he had thought, upset, when he had been asked (again) about _him_. The man he wanted to kill… No, the man he _was going_ to kill. Lovino would be wise to keep his curiosity at bay.

 _You hypocrite_ , a tiny voice whispered in his mind.

" _Shut up_ ," he hissed at himself.

 _You're curious, too_ , the voice whispered back.

Antonio growled and covered his face with his hands.

When he had asked Lovino who he had lost, he had done it purely to piss him off, to show him just how annoying it was to have someone you dislike asking you personal questions; but his reaction had been so explosive that it had generated proper curiosity in Antonio.

Who had Lovino lost? Someone close to him, surely. Perhaps a relative.

Maybe the two of them weren't so different after all…

 _Don't go there_ , Antonio scolded himself. _Don't_. He didn't want to think of Lovino as an equal. _They're all the same_. One of his hands travelled a little higher, tangling on his hair, until his fingers found what they were looking for: a scar on his scalp, old, but that still itched from time to time. _They're all the same_.

"Toni?" a voice whispered from behind the half-open door.

Antonio flinched, startled, but relaxed the moment he realized it was only Francis.

"Are you awake? Did I wake you up?"

"Yes and no. Come in."

Francis pushed the door open and slid inside the room. "You couldn't sleep?" he asked, perceptive as always.

"I'm not the only one, it seems," Antonio replied. He moved to leave a space for Francis on the bed and his friend promptly laid by his side. "What's the matter?"

"Nothing," Francis answered, making himself comfortable next to him. "I just felt nostalgic."

Antonio smiled and wrapped his arms around Francis, pulling him closer. He knew exactly what kind of memories his friend was recalling. "Seeing Alistair is like getting a trip to the past, right?"

Francis hummed in agreement, nuzzling his nose into Antonio's neck. "It made me remember the first time we met. I thought you were the prettiest boy I'd ever seen," he confessed with a chuckle. Antonio snorted. "But then," Francis went on, a melancholic note in his voice, "then you looked at me with such a cold glare that I was seriously scared of you."

"Not scared enough," Antonio replied, playfully kissing Francis' stubbled jaw.

"Not enough," Francis agreed; and, before Antonio could recoil, he grabbed the back of his head and pulled him into a kiss.

Smiling, Antonio closed his eyes as the gentle touch of Francis' lips on his evoked one of his most precious memories.

One of them had had guard duty that night, and the other had insisted on staying to keep him company. Who had been who, Antonio wasn't sure. What he could clearly remember was the way Francis had taken his hand, delicately, and had paid him a compliment; the way Francis had pushed some rebel locks of his long hair off his face and told him he needed a ribbon; the way Francis' trembling hand had pressed against his cheek and held him in place as he leant for a kiss.

He could clearly remember the way his heart had jumped in his chest at the feeling of his friend's lips on his; how it had taken him less than a second to kiss back.

Just like now.

Their relationship had evolved so much over the years that for a while Antonio had struggled to find a word to define it. They weren't _just friends_ ; they weren't _lovers_. They were both and neither at the same time.

"Francis…" Antonio breathed out when they parted. He opened his eyes and his gaze fell on Francis' striking blue pools, which stared back at him with tenderness.

Francis hushed him and kissed him a second time, and a third. There was absolutely nothing sexual about those kisses. They were merely a silent, effective way of conveying a message: _I love you._

If anyone were to ask, Antonio would say that Francis was a close friend whom he was very fond of; maybe he'd even admit that they used to be lovers. But, truth be told, Francis had lost those status years ago, when Antonio had finally found the term he had been looking for.

Francis wasn't his best friend, nor the love of his life.

He was his _soulmate_.

The kiss ended. "We should sleep," Antonio whispered over Francis' lips, a finger tracing his well-defined jaw.

"Yes, we should." Careful, putting special attention on Antonio's injury, Francis wrapped his arms around him and rested his head on his chest. "Good night."

Antonio smiled and buried his fingers on Francis' golden locks.

"Good night, Fran."

~{x}~{§}~{x}~

Waking up in Antonio's arms always did wonders to Francis' heart.

He knew he would no longer get more than a few heartfelt kisses and cuddling, that Antonio had long ago stopped seeing him as a bedmate. And yet he always returned to take whatever he could get, little as it may be.

Sometimes he'd start to overthink about their relationship. What exactly were they?

 _It doesn't matter_ , was his usual conclusion. _We love each other, and that's what's important_.

Antonio squirmed and mumbled something. Francis smiled, kissed his cheek and got out of bed, careful not to wake him up. It was still early.

Alistair's mansion was quiet. The crew must be taking full advantage of, for once, not having to wake up early to man the ship. Francis made his way to the kitchen, not expecting to meet any crewmate there, but hoping that either Matthew of Alistair would be having breakfast.

Much to his surprise, the one who was there eating some bread and cheese was Lovino.

The boy looked up from his food when he heard him walk in, and frowned when he saw it was him. That uneased Francis — he wasn't used to being on the receiving end of Lovino's scowls. He and Raúl were the only ones the former prisoner would greet with smiles… or a neutral expression, at least.

"Good morning," Francis smiled at him, deciding to believe for the moment that Lovino simply had had a bad night's sleep.

But Lovino only frowned deeper. He was eyeing Francis intently, almost as if he were trying to read his mind. "Bonnefoi," he said then. He spoke the word slowly, as if he'd been thinking about it so much that it didn't even sound like an actual word to him anymore.

Francis blinked. "Yes?"

"Alistair called you that yesterday. What does it mean?"

"It doesn't mean anything. It's my surname."

Lovino's eyes opened wide, as if he'd suddenly had an epiphany. "Of course!" he yelled, slapping his own forehead. "One of the most powerful noble houses in France; my father made some deals with them a couple of years ago." He breathed out and sank on the chair, relieved. Then he processed all the information. "Wait, did you say it's _your_ surname?"

Francis smiled, amused, and bowed theatrically. "Francis Bonnefoi, at your service."

"B-B-But…" Lovino stuttered.

"Come on, don't freak out," said Francis, taking a seat next to him.

"I'm not freaking out," Lovino replied, freaking out.

"You really shouldn't. When it comes to surnames, Vargas is a far greater one than Bonnefoi."

"I don't understand."

"What don't you understand?"

"How… How did you end up here? Why would you leave a rich, easy life to become a pirate?"

Francis snorted. He toyed with a piece of bread before taking it to his mouth and chewing it slowly. He could feel Lovino's inquisitive gaze on him. "I was born out of wedlock," he finally said. "I was lucky enough to have a father who wasn't a dick and provided for me and my mother. He also took me in after my mother died when I was five; he let me take the family surname and raised me as a proper son."

"Then why did you leave?"

"Because my father died, and my brother—his firstborn and heir—kicked me out. He'd never liked me, and got rid of me at the first chance he got."

"Ah."

"I keep using the surname mostly to piss him off," Francis confessed with a chuckle, winking at Lovino.

"I think… I think I've met your brother. He travelled all the way to Naples when my father traded with him. You don't look like him."

"No, I never did. He looked a lot like his mother, whereas I got our father's looks. I think that pissed him off the most." Francis leant back on his chair, lost in thought as he chewed a piece of cheese. "I'm surprised he got rid of me by kicking me out and not by sending someone after my head."

Lovino hummed. "Thanks for telling me."

"No problem. I've the feeling you'll sleep better tonight," Francis joked.

Lovino blushed and looked away.

~{x}~{§}~{x}~

Francis' story had kept Lovino thinking for the rest of the morning and into the afternoon. He couldn't help but wonder how he'd react if his father showed up one day with a five-year-old and told him he had a new sibling. Could he accept that kid into his life? _Yes, I could and I would_ , he kept telling himself, yet he couldn't shake off the doubt. Maybe he'd feel attacked. Maybe his fierce protection over Feli would make him reject the new kid. Maybe he'd be hurt by the thought that his mother, Feli and himself hadn't been enough for his father. _But that wouldn't be the kid's fault_ , he argued.

Eventually, he reached the conclusion that he'd need to live it to finally have an answer.

Although, perhaps the fact that he didn't want to live it at all was already an answer.

Lovino shook his head to get rid of those disturbing thoughts and rushed to Antonio's room. He had promised Francis that he'd check the state of the captain's injury. Determined not to provoke another embarrassing moment like last night's, Lovino knocked loudly on the door.

The faint chattering he could hear behind the closed door died, and it took Antonio a few seconds to say: "Come in."

Lovino pushed the door open and walked inside. Antonio and Alistair were standing next to the window, apparently in the middle of a conversation Lovino had interrupted. He considered explaining the reason for his visit, but he needn't — Alistair patted Antonio's head in a fatherly fashion, said something to him in English ("We'll talk later", if Lovino had understood him correctly) and promptly left. Antonio sighed.

"Can you walk at ease? Does it hurt?" Lovino asked, deeming it better to skip the awkwardness and go straight to the point.

"It hurts the most when I change between laying down, sitting and standing up," Antonio answered as he sat on the bed, grimacing, and started to take off his shirt. "It only bothers me a little when I walk."

Lovino nodded. "Okay, let's take a look at it." He sat next to Antonio and unwrapped the bandages, slowly uncovering the wound. The captain sucked in a gasp when his injury was visible (it was the first time he was seeing it, after all); Lovino only smiled proudly. He'd done a good job.

The professional stitches had resisted all those days. The cut had a reddish colour and it was going to leave one heck of a scar, but it seemed to be healing just fine. Unable to resist himself, Lovino ran a finger over the cut, starting on Antonio's chest and all the way down to his abdomen. It took him more self-control than he'd expected not to take a detour to trace his tattoo as well.

Antonio's skin twitched and shivered under his touch, but other than that, he didn't react. That surprised Lovino. He had expected the hot-blooded Spaniard to snap at him, push him away, maybe even hit him. That meek behaviour he was exhibiting was so unlike himself it made Lovino wonder if perhaps that was the effect Alistair Kirkland had on him. Antonio certainly looked calmer than all the other times Lovino had been with him.

"What do you want?" Antonio said then, startling Lovino.

Only then did he realize how close he'd gotten to the captain's bare torso. _Shit_. He stood up abruptly and moved away, not looking at Antonio. "It has good aspect," he said, flushed. "At this pace you could sail again in—" The question he'd been asked finally registered and Lovino turned to look at Antonio, his previous embarrassment completely wiped out by the surprise. "Wait, what do you mean _what do I want_?"

Antonio looked at him with a serious expression. "You saved my life," he stated, slowly. "I think it's only fair that I repay you. What do you want?"

"Can I ask for anything?" Lovino said, incredulous. "And you'll grant it?"

"As long as it's in my hand and it doesn't put me or my crew at risk, yes."

Lovino stilled. Truth be told, he had thought he may receive an offer like that — only, he'd expected it'd come from Francis. The fact that Antonio had been the one to ask had thrown him off.

But he already knew what was it that he desired.

"I want to go home," he said quietly. "Forget about the ransom and everything, just… Take me home."

Antonio stared at him for a few seconds, not moving a muscle, and then he slowly nodded. "Where's home?"

"Naples."

"Naples…" Antonio repeated, narrowing his eyes as if locating it on a mental map. "Very well." He nodded again, and Lovino couldn't hold back a smile. " _However_ ," Antonio continued, raising his voice to make sure Lovino payed attention, "don't expect the ride to be a holiday. There's a simple guideline in my ship: if you want food, you must earn it."

Lovino crossed his arms and glared at him. "In other words," he spat, "you want me to be the ship's doctor."

"Clever boy," Antonio smirked. Lovino wanted nothing more than to punch that smirk off his face.

"And if I refuse?"

"Do you miss the shackles in the brig so much?"

Lovino clenched his fists in rage; his jaw was rigid. He wasn't sure what was worse: Antonio's smug attitude or the fact that he could no longer refuse. After having been walking free for many days, the thought of being chained back in that brig was even less appealing than the thought of working for Carriedo and his pirates.

"You take me straight to Naples," he growled. "No detours and no more stops than necessary. I'll be the ship's doctor and that's the only task I'll have."

"Seems fair." Antonio reached for a handshake, a smile that was everything but friendly on his face. "That's a deal."

Lovino shook his hand. Antonio's grasp was firm and strong, and Lovino tried to squeeze his hand harder in an attempt at showing confidence. Antonio's eyes gleamed in amusement.

"Welcome to the crew," he said.

Those words felt like a punch to the guts.

* * *

 _AN: Reminder to everyone — and mostly myself — that this is a Spamano story. It'll come, eventually. In the meantime, you'll have to put up with the SpUK and the SpaBel (kinda) and the Frain and I just can't help myself I ship Spain with half of Europe I'm sorry_ u_u _(I honestly don't know where that scene with Antonio and Francis came from. It wasn't planned. I swear it's goddamn Francis coming alive and writing himself what the actual fuck.)_

 _Anyway. Hope you liked it. If you don't leave a review, you'll have ten years of bad luck._


	11. Chapter XI

_AN: Each time a chapter of this story is being a pain to write, there's a tiny voice in my head that starts to whisper: "Kill them all and call it a day." You're lucky I love all these idiots so much. Although I'll admit that this one in particular was only a pain at the beginning; the rest flowed easily. It was, however, a literal pain, because while I wrote most of it I had a cut on my middle finger and it hurt every time I typed :) You'd better appreciate the sacrifices I make for y'all._

* * *

 **TIGHT ROPE**

 **Chapter XI**

They stayed at Alistair's for nearly two weeks, enough time for Antonio to regain most of his strength.

When Lovino finally gave him permission, after having kept him confined to his room for what had seemed an eternity (but that had been barely four days), the captain hadn't lost a second. First, he saw around the castle with Alistair and Francis; then practiced his swordplay with them. The intense exercise after a long time of inactivity nearly made him faint and earned him a scolding from Lovino, who strictly forbade him to do it again until new order. Francis, always the sensible one, had stopped practicing with Antonio since. Alistair, on the other hand, wasn't used to receiving orders, and kept doing it, much to Antonio's satisfaction. Not only had he missed the physical activity — he had also missed spending time like that with Alistair.

" _I can't tell if you're old or out of practice or both_ ," he teased him once, after he had beaten him for the umpteenth time.

Alistair glared at him. " _I can tell you're an ass_ ," he replied, flopping down on a chair to recover his breath. " _Ungrateful brat_ ," he growled.

" _I'm very grateful_ ," Antonio reassured him, sitting next to him. " _I simply owe you too much, sometimes it's overwhelming_."

" _Don't be an idiot. All I ask of you is that you keep yourself alive_."

" _Not an easy task for a pirate_."

" _And you don't make it any easier_."

" _No, I suppose I don't_ ," Antonio chuckled. Then: " _Alistair…_ " he called, softly.

" _Yes?_ "

" _You know you're like an older brother to me_."

" _I'm aware_."

" _In fact… you're the closest thing I've ever had to a father_."

" _I know_."

" _Thank you_. _For everything._ "

" _No problem, kid_." He pulled Antonio close with a one-arm hug and kissed his temple. " _No problem_."

And then, two nights before they were due to leave (and once again ignoring Lovino's prohibitions), he threw a farewell party.

~{x}~{§}~{x}~

"Don't you _dare_ drink any alcohol," Lovino warned Antonio. And then, because he already knew the captain wouldn't comply, he went to Francis: "Please make sure he doesn't get too drunk."

Francis nodded in agreement. "I always try to, injury or not. I'll try a little harder tonight." Then he sighed, as if he were mentally preparing himself for the titanic quest of keeping Antonio's alcoholism at bay.

Much to their surprise, Antonio sought entertainment in things other than booze.

He spent most of the evening with Alistair, chatting with him about topics Lovino couldn't care less about. What caught his attention instead was _the way_ they chatted. They had sprawled together on a couch, leaving no room for anyone else, and even though from the distance Lovino couldn't hear their voices or their laughs, he could clearly see the way Antonio's face brightened up every time Alistair spoke. At first, Lovino wasn't sure why the scene was tugging at his heart.

It took him a while to realize they looked exactly like Feli and his father did when the latter would return from a trading trip. He'd sit Feli on his knees and tell him about all the wonders he'd seen both on the journey and on foreign lands, and Feli would look up at him in awe and adoration.

Carriedo had the same look on him as he listened to Kirkland now.

Lovino suddenly felt sick. He couldn't believe that the sight of two of the most infamous pirates to have ever sailed the Mediterranean had made him feel homesick.

"Hey, you alright?" someone said by his side, startling him. "Your face is yellow."

He turned to find Raúl smiling amicably at him.

"I need a drink," he blurted out before his brain could properly think the words.

"Hmm?" Raúl raised an eyebrow. "Are you sure?" he asked, no doubt remembering that not so long ago Lovino hadn't dealt good with a little sip of rum.

"Yes. I need a drink," Lovino repeated, vehemently. "Or two."

Raúl shrugged and handed him the bottle he was carrying. Lovino took it and downed a big gulp. Then a second. And a third.

The next few hours passed in a blur. Lovino was somewhat aware of Raúl's presence beside him, mainly when he caught him every time he lost his balance and when he gently took the bottle back from him, saying that he had already drunk enough. (Lovino thought he also saw Francis then, shaking his head at him and mumbling that perhaps it wasn't Antonio who he should have been watching.)

He wasn't sure how long he was submerged in that drunken trance, but by the time he started to regain his senses, it was already dark outside. His neck was stiff as a result of being sat in a bad position (when or how he had ended up on a chair, he had no idea); his throat and stomach still resented the burn of the alcohol. His head was throbbing, and _what the hell was that noise_?

Groggy, Lovino opened his eyes. Ah, Carriedo was playing his guitar again. He was a good player, and Lovino would have welcomed the music if it weren't accompanied by the voices of dozens of drunken pirates. What were they singing about? Something lewd, surely. Not with little effort, Lovino forced his numbed brain to switch from Italian to Spanish and sharpened his ears. A couple of stanzas full of euphemisms that failed wonderfully at being even slightly discreet told him he had been correct in his assumptions.

He dozed off.

When he awoke for the second time, the pirates were still singing, but with much less energy than before. The song itself was a calm, slow ballad; one that sounded almost too well on the guitar.

A voice raised above the others, raspy yet clear and melodic. One by one, the rest started to become quiet, until only that voice accompanied the guitar.

Lovino cracked an eye open.

Antonio was still sprawled on the couch, one leg flung over the armrest. Alistair was playing with his long hair, tangling his fingers on it, and Antonio was seemingly enjoying the caresses, for he leant against his former captain, eyes shut and a content smile on his lips.

And yet he didn't miss a single note.

He played the guitar on his lap with ease, even with his eyes closed, and he managed to keep his singing on tune despite the awkward position his body was in.

 _You would have been a wonderful musician_ , Lovino found himself thinking as he stared at Carriedo. _It's a shame you chose to waste your life as a pirate instead._

Antonio's voice rose as he reached what Lovino assumed to be the chorus. " _Que es mi barco mi tesoro,_ " he sang in Spanish, his voice full of passion, " _que es mi Dios mi libertad; mi ley, la fuerza y el viento; mi única patria, la mar._ "

Lovino felt something stir inside of him. The song spoke of a fearsome ship and her fearless captain, masters of the seas, with no limits or boundaries whatsoever. It was a hymn to freedom; a kind of freedom Lovino knew he'd never achieve.

His eyes stung.

It took him a moment to realize there were tears rolling down his cheeks.

The song ended and the spell was broken. The pirates, who had been listening in silence — both respectful and captivated — broke down in cheers. Antonio flinched at the sudden noise, startled out of his musical trance, but soon smiled and waved at them.

"Lovino? Are you alright?"

"Eh?" Lovino blinked, confused. He felt as if he had been watching the scene from a different plane, and now returning to his body felt awkward. Raúl was in front of him, staring with worry in his eyes. "Yes. Yes, I'm—" _crying_ , he remembered. "I'm fine," he said, quickly drying his cheeks. "Just tired. I'll go to bed."

"I'll take you," Raúl replied when Lovino attempted to stand up from the chair and wobbled dangerously. "Come on."

Lovino tried to protest when Raúl picked him up with insulting ease, but resting his head on his shoulder felt too nice, and Lovino was too tired, his eyelids felt too heavy.

"Don't fall asleep on me," Raúl muttered. Lovino couldn't tell whether he was commanding or asking.

"I won't," he groaned back as his eyes fell shut.

When he opened them again, it was around noon.

He was on his bed.

And Raúl was snoring beside him.

~{x}~{§}~{x}~

They left with the tide.

Francis oversaw everything, allowing Antonio enough time to say his farewells to Alistair. With Matthew's help, he made an inventory of all the food Alistair had supplied; then, he relocated Lovino to an empty cabin beside Antonio's and had the crew inspect the ship for any damage she might still have.

When _El Diablo_ finally set sail, the crew was in a good mood and eager for adventure.

Standing at the helm, Francis breathed in deeply to get in the salty smell of the sea — he had missed it dearly — and stroked the wood of the wheel. He had missed being aboard the ship, too.

 _El Diablo_ was a nice ship, one Francis was very fond of. Not like Antonio, to the point of writing love poems to her, but close enough.

Speaking of the devil, Antonio walked up the stairs to the upper deck and joined him. He was clad in clean clothes, his coat again bright red (not a single bloodstain on it), and he moved with such ease that no casual observer would have guessed that a few weeks ago he had been on the verge of death. Lovino sure had made a good job patching him up.

"Naples, then?" Francis asked.

"Aye," Antonio nodded. "Naples."

"I'm so proud of you."

"What for?"

"Accepting that you owe Lovino your life and reaching an agreement with him."

Antonio snorted. "I'm not as terrible as everyone thinks."

"I know." Francis winked and patted his shoulder. "I was just teasing." It wasn't a lie, but neither was that he had been shocked when Antonio had told him about the deal he had made with Lovino. Ever since they had captured the young Italian, the captain had made it blatantly clear that he despised everything Lovino represented — and, in particular, that he despised Lovino himself.

Him putting all that hatred aside, acknowledging Lovino and returning the kindness he had been shown had been a surprise. A pleasant one, at that.

Francis was truly proud of Antonio, even though he was certain Alistair had meddled in the issue.

However, he knew better than to insist on that. He didn't want to annoy Antonio into going back to bullying Lovino.

"Are you alright?" he asked then, changing the topic.

Antonio shrugged. "It still hurts," he answered, running his fingers over the shirt that covered his recovering injury, "but it's healing just fine. I'll be as good as new in no time."

Francis smiled. "I wasn't talking about that," he said, softly.

Antonio's eyes gleamed, and Francis knew he knew what he had been asked; he had known from the start. Whether he planned to answer was something else entirely.

"I'm fine."

"Is that a proper _fine_ , or a I'm-not-really-fine-but-I-don't-want-to-talk-about-it _fine_?"

"Proper fine," Antonio answered, and he couldn't help a smile. "I've talked a lot with Alistair. We're good. No hard feelings of any kind."

"That's good." _You do look happier_ , Francis thought, but didn't say. Antonio's cheerful mood was feeble — even the slightest out-of-place comment could bring it down. It was better to enjoy it in silence while it lasted.

~{x}~{§}~{x}~

The first day back on the ship nearly killed Lovino.

After two weeks on land, his body had forgotten how to cope with the constant wobbling; he got seasick and nearly threw up a few times. The worst part was feeling on him the mocking stares of the crew, men who had devoted their lives to the sea and found his weakness hilarious. Only Francis showed a little empathy and gave him hints to better accustom himself to the ship; a gesture Lovino really appreciated.

Normally, he would have gone to Raúl for help.

But he hadn't really spoken to him after waking up with him in his bed.

"You begged me to stay," Raúl had explained when Lovino had asked. "I dropped you and was about to leave when you grabbed my sleeve and wouldn't let go. The bed was big enough for the both of us, so I figured I'd stay."

Lovino had believed him — there was no reason why Raúl would lie, and although a criminal, he certainly didn't strike Lovino as a liar — yet he had started to feel uneasy around him. And he wasn't even sure why.

Perhaps what worried him the most was that he had practically forced Raúl into his bed. While drunk and sleepy and nearly passed out, yes, but that didn't cancel the fact that it had happened.

Determined not to overthink about it, Lovino decided to entertain himself ordering his new cabin.

It was next to Antonio's, identical to Francis', which was on the opposite side, and it could be accessed either by an external door or through one that connected it to Antonio's cabin. (Not happy with that, Lovino had promptly locked the latter.)

"This was always supposed to be the doctor's cabin," Francis had explained when he had shown it to Lovino. "But we didn't have a proper doctor before, so we used it as an extra storage room."

The only thing the first-mate had had time to do to reconvert it back into a bedroom had been installing a hammock. Other than that, the cabin was still pretty much a storage room, and a messy one, too. It was full of boxes and barrels, none of them labelled, and not set in any sensible order.

A hunch told Lovino that it was Antonio and not Francis the one who, until then, had been in direct control over the cabin.

It took him a long time, but eventually he left the cabin somewhat presentable. The barrels, all of which contained food or water, had been redistributed to a corner where they wouldn't bother him, and the boxes — God knew what was in them, they were all carefully nailed shut — had been rearranged into an improvised desk. They were heavier than Lovino had initially thought, and by the time he finished he was panting, sweaty, and dead tired.

He didn't have to think it twice to skip dinner in favour of flopping down on his hammock, and he was asleep in a matter of seconds.

The following morning, Lovino awoke to a hand gently shaking him.

"Hey, wake up," Raúl's voice reached his still foggy brain. "The sun's already risen—so do we."

Lovino groaned. _This wasn't part of the deal_. The indignant thought floated in his head for a few seconds before vanishing, never making it to his mouth. Complaints wouldn't save him from an early rise. And, besides… He could do with less mocking stares from the crew. Perhaps that would come with adapting to their lifestyle.

"I'm up," he yawned, deciding to ignore the chuckle that followed his words. He was still too into the sleeping world to start a childish argument with Raúl.

He even forgot he was supposed to feel uncomfortable around him.

And Raúl didn't see fit to remind him as he took him under his wing again.

~{x}~{§}~{x}~

"Can I ask you something?" Lovino asked as he twisted the rope in his hands, trying to emulate the knot Raúl was trying to teach him.

"Sure," he shrugged in reply, "but I can't promise I'll answer."

Lovino hesitated for a moment, his gaze unwillingly finding Carriedo, who kept pacing back and forth the deck, overseeing his crew's work. Since they'd left Wales, only three days ago, Lovino hadn't had many interactions with the captain. In fact, save for the one time he had checked on his injury, Antonio had very indiscreetly ignored him, and Lovino believed it was because he wasn't thrilled by the idea of having him in his crew.

Then again, it had been him who had suggested the deal in the first place.

The easy conclusion was that Antonio had been persuaded into offering him a deal, and although Lovino's first guess was that it had been Francis, his mind kept wandering back to what he had seen of Alistair Kirkland.

And his entire being screamed for answers, even though he wasn't even sure what were the questions.

"What… What's the relationship between Carriedo and Alistair Kirkland?" he finally asked.

Raúl's brow furrowed and he put down his rope to stare at Lovino. "That's the question?" he chuckled in something that was either amusement or disbelief. "Well… The Captain was Kirkland's cabin boy, back in the day. No one really knows how he ended up on his ship — there are many different rumours about it, probably none of them true."

"What kind of rumours?"

"Some say that the Captain showed up with the severed heads of some old enemies of Kirkland's and demanded to be let into the crew. Others, that he was on the run from the justice and hid in Kirkland's ship." He shrugged. "All bullshit, if you ask me."

"So what do _you_ think?"

"I think the Captain was just one of many orphans who dreamed of becoming a pirate, and when the most renowned one of the day showed up in his hometown, he joined the crew. But," he sighed, untangling his rope and starting with another knot, "that isn't a mighty start for a mighty pirate, so people just come up with whatever fantasy they like best.

"Anyway, what _is_ true is that the Captain ended up in Kirkland's ship, and that he was young—"

"How young?"

This time, Raúl's eyes gleamed in clear amusement. "I'm not sure. Fourteen, I believe.

"As I was saying, Kirkland took him into his crew and made him his cabin boy. He practically raised the Captain — I'd say he saw him like another younger brother."

Lovino considered Raúl's words. The relationship he had described certainly matched the clear memory he had of the two captains at the party. Either fatherly or brotherly, it was clear that Carriedo looked up to Alistair, and Lovino now had no doubts that the Scotsman had pushed Antonio into making the deal with him.

" _Another younger brother_ …" Raúl breathed out then, amused, his eyes on his rope but his mind clearly somewhere else. "I wonder how Kirkland would react if he found out the Captain is fucking Arthur."

"He _WHAT_?!"

"Oh, it's no secret for us," Raúl laughed, mistaking Lovino's scandalized yelp for a plea for gossip. "They think they're discreet, but they're really _not_. They—"

"Spare me the details!" Lovino cut him. "I didn't really need to know that Carriedo… that he…"

"That he has sex with other men?" Raúl helpfully finished his sentence.

Lovino glared at him. "Exactly that," he spat. "God, that's—"

He saw the colour leave Raúl's face when he moved his gaze from the rope to him instants before he heard the voice behind him:

"That's _what_?" Antonio growled.

Startled, Lovino jumped to his feet and turned to face the captain. He was standing there (for how long, Lovino was scared to ask), arms crossed before the chest, brow furrowed, and green eyes glowing in challenge, daring Lovino to say out loud the word that was in his head.

"Please finish that line," Antonio invited, though his voice, posture and glare were everything but welcoming. "That's what?"

 _Disgusting_ , Lovino thought. "That's _wrong_ ," he said instead.

~{x}~{§}~{x}~

Antonio cocked an eyebrow. He knew full well that Lovino hadn't said what he truly thought, but also that he still believed what he had said instead.

" _Wrong_?" he repeated, allowing an amused note to tint his voice. "Says who?"

"Says everyone," Lovino replied, and oh how the fire in his eyes burnt! If he was in the very least scared of Antonio, he sure wasn't letting it show.

"Says everyone, yet you're the only one aboard this ship who so much as _thinks_ it," Antonio retorted, and he loved the way Lovino looked stunned for a moment before recovering his scowl.

"It's illegal."

This time, Antonio couldn't hold back a full laugh. "Illegal, yes. Unlike piracy, which is in fact an honourable profession under the cover of the law."

Lovino went scarlet, seemingly realizing then how stupid it was to point out to a bunch of criminals that a certain behaviour was illegal. He opened and closed his mouth a few times, like a fish out of the water, and Antonio would have lied if he said he didn't enjoy seeing him at a loss of words.

It didn't last long, though.

Lovino pursed his lips, frowning even deeper than before, and the glare he sent at Antonio might have intimidated someone else. "It's _wrong_ ," he hissed again, promptly attempting to stomp away.

Antonio, however, moved fast and grabbed his arm when he passed by his side, stopping him dead on his track. Lovino went rigid, but didn't try to pry free. "It might be wrong," Antonio said then, leaning closer to him, practically whispering the words in his ear, "but I can assure you it feels so _good_."

Lovino snorted, freed his arm with a rough push and walked away, not sparing a single look for Antonio. The captain didn't turn to watch him leave either.

Raúl chuckled a bit nervously then as he picked up the ropes he and Lovino had been using. "He's just confused by what he doesn't understand," he said, whether to Antonio or to himself, the captain didn't know. "I'll talk to him; I'll—"

"Don't get too involved with him," Antonio said, softly, but effectively cutting him.

Raúl froze in place. His eyes darted at Antonio for a split second; he chewed his lip. "Is that an order, Captain?" he asked after a moment.

"No, just advice."

"I—" Raúl started, but Antonio interrupted again:

"We're taking him back to his home. He'll only be with us for a few weeks. Not to mention, he's already made clear what he thinks about that kind of relationships." He paused for a moment and stared at his subordinate, taking in his downcast stance and pensive expression. "He's not worth getting your heart broken over," he finished, speaking much softer this time.

Raúl nodded. "Thanks, sir. I'll remember that," he said, forcing a smile, and immediately after left after Lovino.

Antonio stayed there a little longer, lost in thought, until a call of "Captain!" from the upper deck prompted him to move. He climbed up the stairs in quick, long strides and walked to Francis' side. His first-mate was standing still next to the railing, looking through the spyglass.

"Yes?" Antonio asked, announcing his presence. "What do we have?"

Francis handed him the spyglass without a word. Antonio took it and studied the horizon until he spotted what Francis had been watching.

"A ship," he mumbled. "British," he added, having caught sight of the flag.

"Most likely a merchant ship," Francis added. "And small. It's an easy target."

"Are you perhaps suggesting an attack to lift the men's spirits?" Antonio smirked, lowering the spyglass and glancing sideways at his first-mate.

"You know me so well," he smiled back.

~{x}~{§}~{x}~

Lovino was angry.

The previous argument with Carriedo hadn't left him in a good mood; and then being shoved and locked into his cabin while the crew attacked a small, innocent merchant ship hadn't exactly lifted his spirits.

When Raúl finally unlocked his cabin's door, a cheerful smile on his face (way too cheerful, considering he was cleaning blood off his cutlass), Lovino greeted him with a glare.

"You should come outside," Raúl invited. "The Captain's got a colourful bird that _speaks_! It's mostly cursing in English, but it's really fun."

"He's _got_ a bird?" Lovino repeated through gritted teeth. "I think you mean he's _stolen_ a bird."

"Semantics," the pirate shrugged.

"Those men were just trying to make a living."

"Yes. So are we." Raúl sheathed his cutlass and stared right into the Italian's eyes. "They surrendered, Lovino. We only killed the first who resisted; spared those who put down their weapons."

"That doesn't make it any better," Lovino grumbled.

"Not everyone would have spared them, you know."

Lovino made a face and looked away. Raúl kept talking, more thinking aloud than addressing him.

"In fact, this one was a necessity assault."

" _Necessity assault_?"

"Well, yes." Raúl leant against the doorframe and started to toy with a golden coin he fished from his pocket. "Sometimes we _need_ to attack a ship, you know, either because we're low on provisions or money, or because we've been idle for too long and we crave some action."

"And what do you call the attacks that aren't a _necessity_?" Lovino growled, air-quoting the last word. "Caprices?"

"As a matter of fact, yes." Raúl flashed a smile at him. "They're the Captain's caprices. No one really knows why, but sometimes there are certain ships he's very keen on attacking. We—hey, are you alright? You look pale."

"Necessity or caprice," Lovino mumbled. His legs were shaking; he crossed his arms to hide his trembling hands. His eyes didn't leave Raúl's silhouette on his doorframe, dark against the twilight.

"Yes?"

Lovino swallowed and only hesitated for a second before asking: "Which was mine?"

Raúl straightened; the coin disappeared back into his pocket.

Seconds passed, and Lovino didn't know whether Raúl was trying to remember or deciding if he were to answer.

"Raúl?" he prompted, his voice practically begging.

The pirate took a shaky breath.

And a single word left his lips.

* * *

 _AN: *gasp* Cliffhanger! Does that count as a cliffhanger? Hm, who cares. On the next chapter Antonio and Lovino will start getting along, promise! They're still not done hating each other's guts, but we'll fix that soon. Cross my heart._

 _Now, the song Antonio sings is actually a poem by José de Espronceda called_ La Canción del Pirata _(The Pirate's Song) that has been turned into a song by more than one Spansih rock bands (you can look it up on YouTube). It's one of the most famous poems in Spain; everyone knows the first four verses. And well, it's basically that: a pirate singing about his freedom aboard his ship. The chorus and the verses Antonio sings are these:_

 ** _Que es mi barco mi tesoro,  
_** ** _que es mi Dios mi libertad;  
_** ** _mi ley, la fuerza y el viento;  
_** ** _mi única patria, la mar._**

 _Which would translate to:_

 ** _My ship is my tresure,  
my God is my freedom;  
my law, the strength and the wind;  
my only homeland, the sea._**

 _Isn't it the greatest thing ever? :D Now, the poem is from, like, two hundred years after this story is supposed to take place, but I really love it and wanted to include it, so allow me the little license n_n_ _And yes, I implied that Antonio wrote it. I was already fucking up the poem's history, so who cares. :P We love a poetic pirate~_

 _And with this chapter, the Word document passed 100 pages :) It's also been a little over a year since I started this story. How fast time passes! :O And we're not even halfway through :'D This fanfic will be the death of me. Oh well. I hope you lot enjoy it, at least. Review? n_n_


	12. Chapter XII

_AN: Yes, I know, it's been three months. I have no excuse. And now finals are coming, and then I'm going to be busy as fuck, so... I don't know. Just bear with me and my inconsistent posting schedules u_u At least this chapter is a long one? n_n"_

 _Netherlands and Luxembourg in this chapter! For the story's sake, they're not related to Belgium._

 _Hope you like it! :)_

* * *

 **TIGHT ROPE**

 **Chapter XII**

"We agreed we'd go straight to Naples."

The reproach surprised Antonio far less than the fact that Lovino was addressing him directly. Ever since the boy had found out about his _preferences_ , and no doubt encouraged by the following attack on the English ship, Lovino had made a show of pretending he didn't exist. A very bad one, since Antonio could feel the scorching glare on him every time he was nearby, but still. It was the first time he heard him speak since then — and it had been quite a few days.

"I know very well what we agreed," he replied. His gaze flicked to the side to find Lovino — arms crossed, determined scowl, and that _glare_ — before resting again on the horizon, where the dark blur of a coastline had been growing clearer until he could see the port-town they were headed for. "We're only stopping for a few hours — I have some business to attend here." Then he frowned, wondering why he was giving him any explanations at all.

"Business?" Lovino repeated slowly, as if the word tasted funny in his mouth. "Is that why your men keep invading my cabin?"

This time, Antonio turned to look at him in the eye. "Your cabin is in _my_ ship," he retorted. "And anyway, I thought those were bothering you." He nodded to the boxes, neatly piled on the deck, the last of which were just then being taken out of Lovino's cabin.

Lovino's glare narrowed, but he clearly had nothing clever to reply, and eventually he turned around and left, grumbling something under his breath.

A sailor approached him then. "What must we do with the boxes, Captain?" he asked.

"Take them to the Dutchman as soon as we dock."

The other nodded. "Any messages for him?"

"No, I'll drop by later myself."

A nod again, and then he was gone.

With a sigh, Antonio focused his gaze on the horizon again, his mind drifting back to earlier that morning, when he and Francis had argued. Although _argument_ was too strong a word; it had been more of a strong disagreement. Still, it hadn't left Antonio with a particularly good feeling in his stomach — he hated arguing with his first-mate, who above all else was also his best friend. And the fact that Francis, as usual, was right, didn't exactly help matters.

He only moved from the bow when they reached port and dropped the anchor.

He went for Francis first. When he saw him approach, his friend raised a single eyebrow in question. Antonio sighed, nodded, and said: "Alright." Francis said nothing, but his smile, both triumphant and thankful, was telling enough.

And then they went for Lovino.

"What?" the boy asked, his face paling slightly, when the two men appeared at his cabin's door, their visit clearly unexpected.

"Come on, princeling," said Antonio. "We're going shopping."

"I—" Lovino blinked, confusion evident in his face. "I don't want to go shopping."

"Too bad. Let's go."

"And I'm not a prince," Lovino grumbled later, as they left the ship and walked into town.

Antonio didn't reply, save for a discreet eye-rolling that not even Francis caught, and there was only one thought in his head: _Let's be quick and get this over with._

The first stop was the reason they'd brought Lovino along. It was hard to miss the light that filled his eyes when he spotted the sign above the door, deteriorated by the pass of time and the constant attacks of the weather, but that still clearly read _Apothecary_.

"We've always been low on medical supplies," Francis explained as they walked inside, "but it's not like we had anyone who'd know how to use them. Take whatever you might need."

Lovino only nodded, seemingly out of words, and immediately started to look around, grabbing flasks and small boxes and herbs. Antonio watched from a corner, and for a moment he was tempted to remind Lovino of the origin of the money they were going to pay with, just to see his face fall and watch him debate between the utter joy of buying medical supplies and the sheer disgust at doing so with stolen money.

It would be a fun sight.

But, _You're better than this_ , came Alistair's voice to his mind, an echo from not so long ago. _The kid has shown you a kindness you might not have deserved — the least you can do is return it_.

Heaving a sigh, he moved his attention to the cage in his hand. It was covered by a dark cloth, and the bird inside hadn't even stirred since they'd left the ship; a good behaviour that had surprised Antonio, considering that, ever since he'd _borrowed_ the bird from the English ship, all it had done had been insulting him, showing off a vocabulary even more colourful than its feathers.

At some point, Francis had asked for permission to shoot it, and Francis was the most patient man Antonio had ever met — he put up with _him_ , of all people.

The Dutchman was either going to love the bird or toss it back at Antonio's face.

~{x}~{§}~{x}~

Francis paid for everything that Lovino had taken, and all his new supplies were neatly stored in a satchel he was hugging to his chest. It was the first time in his life he'd had the chance to meet an actual apothecary and to purchase off him so many things (some of which he had never even seen before), and he felt lightheaded with the thought.

When they left, he could feel the characteristic smell of the shop clinging to his clothes, and just that was enough to keep him smiling. Soon enough, though, he found himself distracted by the streets they walked, all the different stores on the sides and the even more different people.

He had asked Raúl before, when they were approaching the town. It was in Spain, but close enough to the border with Portugal to be a blend of languages and cultures. Cádiz wasn't far, either, and in a way that town was just as important and busy as the big Spanish port — "although perhaps _a lot_ more illegal," Raúl had commented with a mischievous smirk.

Lovino was now checking that everything was true: the signs on shops, as well as the chatters he heard, were both in Spanish and Portuguese, with no language standing out over the other; and most of the people he crossed paths with certainly looked like criminals.

Luckily, nobody spared him a second look, although Lovino suspected it had more to do with his company than with lack of curiosity.

Francis was well-dressed, a habit most likely conserved from his times as nobility. His white button-up was clean and tucked into a light blue sash around his waist; one that didn't hide the cutlass hanging on his side. His dark trousers disappeared into black boots that, while old, were well-cared for. The outfit was completed by a dark blue coat, rich on details; the cuffs were decorated with neat golden patterns, similar to those on the shoulders and around the buttons. All in all, the coat was an elegant garment that Francis wore with style — if he hadn't already known, Lovino would have definitely suspected then that Francis was some sort of lord in hiding.

Antonio was laxer. His shirt wasn't buttoned all the way up, nor properly tucked into his red sash; his boots were far more tattered than Francis'; and his red coat, though a tad more elegant than his first-mate's, was carelessly hung on his shoulders, as if it were a cloak instead. The only thing the captain was more prone to display were the weapons hanging from his waist: the cutlass, whose pommel he kept stroking; the pistol, always within his fingers' reach; the daggers, one beside the pistol and the other in his boot, not even remotely concealed.

All things considered, captain and first-mate were the living image of deadly pirates, and Lovino didn't doubt that was the reason why there was no one standing in their path.

They still went a little further into the city before taking a smaller, narrower street that led them to a small establishment. The sign above it read _Viking Steel_ , and Lovino knew what they were going to be purchasing even before he set a foot inside.

"Hello, Mikkel," Antonio greeted as he walked through the door.

Behind the counter stood a tall, blond man, clearly neither Spanish nor Portuguese, and his delight at the visit was clear when he grinned. "Antonio!" he exclaimed, blue eyes gleaming. "I've got something you're going to like. Hello, Francis," he greeted the first-mate before ducking behind the counter.

His words were tinted with a foreign accent, one that Lovino couldn't place. Northern, most likely. But before he had time to think about it, he heard Francis say, "Hi, Bjørn," a greeting that was replied by a deep voice right behind him: "Hello."

Startled, Lovino flinched and spun around only to find himself facing another man, not as tall as the other one, his skin fairer, and definitely much scarier. Violet eyes glanced down at him for a second and didn't seem to find him interesting enough, for they soon were back at Francis.

"I'll show you around," the scary man (Bjørn?) said to Francis, his words accompanied by a slight nod, and without waiting for an answer he made his way to the back of the store, where Lovino could see dozens of swords displayed, much more types than he could name.

The sight would have been breathtaking, had the situation been different. Now, Lovino only felt a knot in his stomach, unable to forget the fate reserved for those swords — being wielded by pirates, bandits and all sorts of criminals, spilling the blood of innocents.

"Here it is!" The man behind the counter, Mikkel, resurfaced, a sheathed dagger in his hands. "Look at this beauty," he said, handing it to Antonio, who promptly accepted it.

"Sharp," the captain noted as he unsheathed it, studying it closely. "And light." He grabbed it firmly with his left hand, and the shadow of a smile made it to his lips. "Let's see what you can do."

Lovino's attention, which up until that point had been divided between Antonio's enthusiasm at his new toy and Francis' sword-shopping, focused solely on the captain then, entirely captivated by the way he suddenly started to move the dagger in his hand. Its only purpose was killing, Lovino knew this, and yet he couldn't move his gaze away from the dagger dancing around Carriedo's hand, the handle sliding over his knuckles and back into his grip with such ease it could only come from years of practice.

He was so mesmerized he completely missed how Francis finished his business with Bjørn and exited the shop, a bunch of brand-new swords in his arms.

~{x}~{§}~{x}~

"How much?"

The question left him before he was even aware of it. He was fascinated by the blade: the way it fit in his hand, the way he could make it dance, the way it whistled as it sliced the air. He needn't ask to know it came from Toledo.

"Too much," Mikkel answered. He was leaning on the counter, his chin resting on his hand. "I doubt you can afford it," he added, the mischievous glint in his eyes betraying him.

"No discounts for old friends?" Antonio asked, playing along.

"Maybe. I'll ask the owner."

"You're the owner."

"Hmm. The owner says yes."

"Transmit him my most sincere gratitude. How much?"

"For old friends, ten percent discount. For _old friends_ , though…"

Antonio couldn't help but smile at the way Mikkel stressed the second "old friends". Because they had known each other for a long time, yes, but for most of it they'd been more than just friends. Then he had come back one day to find Mikkel settled down with another handsome northerner, and had respectfully stepped back.

They had remained good friends, though, as proved when Mikkel made him an outrageously high discount and practically gifted him the dagger.

Antonio left the establishment with a smile on his lips, loving the light weight of his new dagger on his hips, when—

"Can I have one?" Lovino asked, startling him.

… was the brat still with him? He had been so distracted by Mikkel that he had assumed Lovino had left with Francis. Clearly, that was not the case.

Antonio looked back over his shoulder. Lovino was trotting behind him, the satchel hugged tightly to his chest and an unreadable expression on his face. _Can I have one_ , he had asked.

"One what?"

"A sword.

"A sword?" He stopped dead on his track and turned to look at him. Lovino frowned, clearly not liking the tone in his voice, but held his gaze. "What do you want a sword for?"

"To pick my teeth after I finish eating," Lovino spat back. "What do you think?" He huffed. "I'm tired of being locked away every time there's a fight."

"So you want to be _in_ the fight?" Antonio chuckled. "And what good is a sword going to do if you don't know how to use it?" he asked, resuming his walking.

"I do know how to use it," Lovino protested, following him.

"There's more to it than just knowing where the pointy end is."

"I _know_ how to fight!"

"Do you, really?"

"I may not like it," he admitted, "but I know how to. I've taken fencing lessons since I was five."

"Ah." Antonio turned to look at him and kept walking backwards. "Then you don't know how to _fight_ — you know how to _fence_."

Lovino frowned. "What's the difference?"

Antonio shrugged. "There are rules in fencing," he simply said, turning around again and seemingly ending the conversation.

He thought he heard Lovino mumbling under his breath something along the lines of, "I'd learn fast if someone _taught_ me," but decided to ignore it. They kept walking in silence for a little longer, Antonio leading the way with purpose, until they made it to a busier area. Antonio noticed that Lovino moved closer to him. They were being stared at, and it seemed to be making him uncomfortable (even if those gazes did quail a bit at the sight of Antonio).

"Relax, princeling," he said, trying not to sound too condescending. "You'll be fine — they know you're with me."

Lovino grumbled something Antonio didn't catch, and the thought of asking vanished when the establishment finally appeared before them.

It didn't have a name or a sign other than a small vessel over the door, a model so mistreated by the weather it looked like a ghost ship. That, combined with the owner's nationality, had granted the shop the nickname of _The Flying Dutchman_. The owner, himself, was referred to simply as _the Dutchman_ , and not many knew his real name.

It had taken Antonio a lot of persuasion to finally get him to confess… and still he sometimes doubted that was his actual name.

"This place looks fucking shady," Lovino mumbled behind him.

For once, Antonio agreed with him. It _was_ a shady place. No one truly knew all the deals the Dutchman could offer and take. It was said he'd do anything you asked of him — provided you could pay what he asked in return. A few years ago, the rumour had spread that the Dutchman was the only man in the world who scared Antonio Carriedo, and he had never bothered to deny it.

The Dutchman didn't scare him, but he came very close.

~{x}~{§}~{x}~

Lovino had no choice but to follow Antonio into the creepy establishment with no name. For the moment, at least, being near the pirate was less scary than the people outside.

When he saw the owner, however, Lovino reconsidered his priorities.

The man was tall, taller than anyone Lovino had ever met before. His blond hair was spiked, much like Mikkel's, but where the other's seemed to be due to a lack of care, this one's was carefully, almost meticulously combed. His severe face didn't betray any emotions: neither the glare in his eyes nor the thin line of his mouth. If it weren't for the scar over his eyebrow, Lovino would have thought that man wasn't human.

"Antonio Carriedo," he greeted the captain. "You're later than I expected." An accent from the north again, but Lovino could easily place this one: Dutch.

"I took a detour to visit the Dane. He always has nice toys for me," Antonio said, a quiet smile on his lips, and if Lovino didn't know any better, he'd have thought he was _apologizing_. "I brought you a gift, though."

The blond raised an eyebrow and stared as Antonio removed the cloth that covered whatever he'd been carrying the whole time. Lovino, too, stared in curiosity.

" _Ta-daa_!" Antonio raised a cage and presented it to the other man. In it there was a bird of colourful feathers, black beak and long tail. It chirped, presumably upset by having been kept in the dark for so long.

"Pretty bird," the blond said, deadpan.

"Wait, wait, wait," Antonio grinned. "You still haven't seen…"

He shook the cage. Inside, the bird batted his wings at Antonio and squeaked: " _Son of a bitch! Son of a bitch!_ "

For a few seconds, nobody moved.

Then the Dutchman's façade cracked.

"For fuck's sake, Antonio," he growled, hiding his face behind a hand to cover the smile on his lips. "I have a reputation."

"And now you have an English-cursing bird," Antonio smirked. "Do you like it?"

Without a word, the Dutchman reached with his free hand to grab the cage; but when Antonio handed it to him, instead of taking the handle, his hand wrapped completely around Antonio's. "I do, yes." He straightened, seemingly recovered from his previous slip, and his hand left his face to grab Antonio's chin.

Lovino sucked in a gasp when the blond closed his hand around Carriedo's jaw, fully expecting the pirate to go berserker. Much to his surprise, Antonio didn't move a muscle. He stood still under the other's gaze — it was the first time he looked small next to someone; not just shorter, but _small_ — and didn't protest as he was examined.

Finally, after what felt like hours, the blond released him, only to tug at his earlobe. "What happened to your earrings?"

"I misplaced them."

"Again?"

Antonio nodded in a meek fashion that didn't suit him _at all_.

The blond sighed. "I might have a new pair for you in the back. If you want them."

"Please."

Lovino wasn't sure what exactly was going on, or what kind of relationship those two men had, but promptly decided he'd rather not know. He hadn't missed that the Dutchman still had a hand over Antonio's and that he was rubbing his thumb over it, seemingly more interested on the hand itself than on the cage it was holding.

Finally, he let go of Antonio, holding the cage himself, and, turning to the back of the establishment, called: "Lukas!"

There was a noise, as if someone had dropped something, and seconds later a boy showed up. He couldn't be much older than Lovino himself, but he was quite taller. His hair was just as blond as the Dutchman's, although it fell freely on his face, covering half of it. (Lovino didn't doubt that was how the other would look like if he didn't style his hair.)

"Yes?" Lukas asked with a bored voice.

"Watch this for a while. I'll be in the back with Antonio."

"Sure."

In an instant, the two men had disappeared behind a door, and Lovino found himself alone in the store with Lukas, who barely spared him a glance before sitting behind the counter to read a book.

Great, just great.

Carriedo had dragged him across the creepiest town Lovino had ever been to just to forget about him every time he met a blond northerner? Had he really brought him all the way there only to have him wait as he did God knows what behind a closed door?

Lovino decided he was having none of it.

 _Time to be brave_.

~{x}~{§}~{x}~

The room wasn't small, but half of it was occupied by boxes and barrels (what they had inside, Antonio didn't know and knew better than to ask). The Dutchman had left the cage on top of a box; Antonio had dropped his coat next to it and now stood still as the Dutchman clasped the new earrings, two on each lobe. They were golden rings, not much different than the others he'd had through the years, and his ears quickly adjusted to the new weight.

"There," the Dutchman said at his back as he clasped the last one. "Try not to lose these."

"I don't lose them — I _misplace_ them."

"Whatever."

Antonio shuddered when he felt the Dutchman's lips on his nape. One hand remained near his ear, toying with his new earrings, while the other arm had wrapped around his waist. "I can't stay," the pirate tried to protest, but his voice came out weak.

"Too bad," the other replied. His hand was now sliding down Antonio's neck, tickling him.

"I mean it," Antonio insisted, half-heartedly trying to pry free. The hand slid down the front of his shirt and he gasped at the touch, loving and hating the way it was making his heart race. "This was just a short stop."

"What the fuck happened to you?"

It took Antonio a moment to realize the Dutchman was stroking the still fresh scar on his chest. He sighed. "Sadik Adnan happened," he mumbled.

"The Turk? He gave you a nasty wound. Although…" he was whispering on his ear now, and Antonio could almost _feel_ his smirk, "you seem to have befriended someone skilled with a needle."

"Don't mention it," he growled. _Shit_ , the brat was waiting for him. "I should go."

"So soon?" The Dutchman swirled him around to make him face him. "I'd like you to stay a little longer."

Antonio shivered when he kissed him. His heartbeat kept accelerating, he felt weak at the knees, goosebumps raised on his skin.

No, the Dutchman certainly didn't scare him — but he'd be damned if the effect he had on him wasn't awfully similar.

"Lars," he protested when they parted. "I really can't stay." He looked into his eyes, a shade between blue and green, and sighed at the very indiscreet glint on them. "Next time," he promised.

"That's what you said last time."

"Did I?"

"And the one before."

Antonio reconsidered. He pushed gently at the Dutchman, guiding him backwards until his legs hit a box behind him. "Sit."

The Dutchman obeyed. Antonio sank to his knees.

He'd make it fast.

* * *

Antonio ignored the compliments about his performance and focused on remaking his ponytail, completely messed up by the Dutchman. It's not like he cared about others realizing the kind of activities he'd been up to, but he'd rather not be too obvious.

"You're amazing," the Dutchman praised him once again, carefully placing his coat on his shoulders.

"I try to."

"And you succeed." He opened the door and held it for Antonio. "When will you drop by again?"

"Who knows," shrugged Antonio. "The tides will tell." He walked back into the establishment. "Hopefully—" He stopped abruptly, having finally looked around.

Lukas was still behind the counter, too engrossed in his book to even spare them a glance.

And Lovino was nowhere to be seen.

~{x}~{§}~{x}~

Out of all the bad decisions Lovino had made in his life, that one was a strong contender for the title of the worst.

When he had approached them, the two men had seemed nice— _ish_. At the very least, nicer than most others. Upon being asked, they had assured him that yes, _of course_ they had a ship, and _of course_ they could take him to Naples!

The fact that they hadn't brought up payment should have been the first red flag.

Their assurance that they could leave that instant should have been the second.

By the time Lovino realized he had been guided into a dead-end alley, it was too late. He tried to run away, but he was promptly caught by a third man — he must have followed them from the start.

"Let go!" Lovino cried, trying to pry free from his hold.

The man laughed and released him, pushing him back towards his two comrades. There was a crooked smile on his lips when he said: "Oh, we'll let you go alright. Bur first be a good boy and give us all you have."

"I don't have anything," Lovino said weakly, trying not to look at the swords hanging from all three men's waists.

"No?" said one of the two that stood at his back. "And what's in that satchel, I wonder?"

"N-Nothing."

"Nothing? Then you won't mind if we take it, eh?"

Trembling, Lovino hugged the satchel tighter. There was a voice screaming in his head, urging him to drop the satchel and run away. There was another, not as loud but just as imposing, that demanded he stood his ground.

 _You didn't survive a fight against a Turkish pirate only to lose to three vulgar thieves._

 _But you had reinforcements the last time._

Lovino swallowed. He highly doubted Raúl would show up at the last second and save his ass — _again_. He was on his own.

 _This is what you wanted — now_ fight.

 _Save your life_.

Slowly, Lovino dropped the satchel, letting it hang from his shoulder, and raised his hands in a surrendering fashion. "I do have something in here," he admitted. "But… It'll be of no use to you."

The men laughed. "Oh, kid, _everything_ is of use. Everything can be sold."

The one who had followed them walked closer, his expression turning deadly serious. "Now, hand that over before someone gets hurt."

"Okay…" Slowly, Lovino started to take off the satchel, walking closer to him with small steps. "Just don't hurt me. Just—" He moved fast: a quick sidestep to his right, where the man had left a bigger opening, and a rush forward, flying past the man and running back into the streets.

He might have made it, had the man not been expecting it.

The punch to his ribs as he passed by him knocked all the air out of his lungs. Lovino gasped as he fell to his knees, too dizzy to come up with another plan, or even think of fighting back. Strong hands grabbed the neck of his shirt as he tried to scramble away and pulled him up again.

Lovino found himself face to face with the third man, who looked amused by his lame escape attempt. Behind him, his two comrades were drawing near, a predatory look on their faces. He panicked.

"L-Let me go!"

"I said we would if you were a good boy," the man smiled. "You have _not_ been a good boy."

He raised his fist.

Lovino shut his eyes.

Then, suddenly, he was yanked back, free from the man's grasp. He fell to the ground again, and this time he could crawl away.

"Who the fuck are you?" one of the men screamed.

Lovino stopped scrambling and looked back.

The first thing that caught his eye was the bright red of Antonio's coat.

~{x}~{§}~{x}~

"Who the fuck am I?" Antonio growled, and the man on the front took a step back at the feral tone of his voice. "Your worst nightmare, if you don't leave this instant."

The men only hesitated for a second before drawing their swords.

Antonio sighed. _Seriously?_ He pulled out his cutlass with his right hand and his new dagger with the left. The way his opponents held their blades, their stances, already told him they were no match for him, even if they had numbers on their favour. "Last chance," he warned.

The men attacked. Antonio's body reacted.

It was quick.

He knocked out the first one by elbowing him one the face, so strongly he felt the nose break.

The second went down harder: a precise kick to the back of his knees, forcing him down, and a rough knock on the head with the pommel of his cutlass.

The third one resisted a little longer, until Antonio pushed his sword out of the way with his own, leaving him free way to move his dagger. The sharp blade stopped millimetres away from the man's neck.

"Drop it," Antonio ordered, nodding to the man's sword.

The man dropped it.

"On your knees."

He went down on his knees.

Antonio grabbed him by the hair and smashed his knee against his face.

The man collapsed.

The pirate took a moment to study the result of the fight: three unconscious men, two of them with broken noses; no injuries on him, and not a single drop of blood in either of his blades. An easy victory.

"Will you please tell me—" He sheathed his cutlass and dagger, and turned to face Lovino. "— _what the hell were you thinking_?"

Lovino was already on his feet, still shaking and teary-eyed. He didn't look Antonio in the eye when he shrugged and muttered, "I don't know."

"No, you clearly don't. Do you have any idea how _lucky_ you've been? This scum here," he pointed at the men laying at his back, "they're the best you could have encountered. What if someone worse had caught you? What if I didn't find you on time? You have _no fucking clue_ of all the things that could have gone wrong! You could be dead, you could be—"

"Shut up!" Lovino yelled. He was crying now. "Didn't you say you didn't care what happened to me?"

"Well, things have changed a little since then, haven't they?" Antonio spat back. "Like it or not, you're part of my crew now! And I look after my crew. All of them."

Behind him, one of the men groaned in awakening. Antonio took it as their cue to leave.

"Come on." He grabbed Lovino's arm and pulled him along. "Let's go back to the ship."

If he was still around when the men awoke, he couldn't trust himself not to beat them up again. He was so _angry_. At Lovino, for escaping; at himself, for having left him unwatched; at those three men, for being so ridiculously overconfident and not knowing when to step the fuck back. He was enraged by the thought of what may have happened if Lovino hadn't been so insultingly easy to track down; if he hadn't found him on time. A robbery was the best outcome of the situation — and, judging by the expressions he'd seen on the men right before intervening, he doubted they'd have stopped there.

"I appreciate that you showed up," Lovino said then, quietly.

"That's the most roundabout way of saying _thanks_ I've ever heard," Antonio growled back.

"At least I'm saying _something_ ," Lovino replied, suddenly stopping dead on his track and trying to pry free from Antonio's hand around his arm. "Let go."

"Why? So you can run away again? Sure, that turned out perfectly fine the first time."

" _Let go_!"

They were attracting too many gazes, and not even Antonio's murderous aura seemed to be enough to keep their curiosity at bay. Still grabbing Lovino's arm, he pushed him into an empty alley. He sent a glare at the crowd behind him, daring anyone to try and follow them, and didn't release Lovino until they were out of sight.

"Okay. I've let go. What now? Off you go again? And what's your plan of action for when you're attacked again?"

Lovino sniffed and rubbed furiously his eyes with the back of his hand. "If I had a sword—" he started, but Antonio cut him off:

" _What_. If you had a sword, _what_. You would have fought and defeated those three men all by yourself? Is that it?"

Downcast, Lovino didn't answer.

Antonio took a deep breath. "Let me ask you something," he said, a little calmer. "Suppose you did have a sword. Suppose you fought everyone who tried to rob you. If it came down to it, would you have it in you to kill them?"

Lovino's breath hitched.

"Could you kill a man?" Antonio asked a second time in a deep voice. "Even with a hundred swords—"

"I already have."

"—or a thousand pistols, you still— _what_?"

"I said, _I already have_!" Lovino roared, finally looking at Antonio. Under the tears, his amber eyes blazed so strongly that Antonio almost took a step back.

Almost.

He frowned. "What are you—?" he started to ask, but just as he was about to finish ( _talking about?_ ), the memory came to him like a jar of cold water, washing all the anger off him.

" _Oh_."

~{x}~{§}~{x}~

 _Oh_.

Was that really all he had to say about it?

Lovino almost felt like laughing. He had seen it on Antonio's face; the moment he had realized what Lovino was talking about. The surprised tone of his voice had been the worst. The bastard had actually _forgotten_ about it.

If only Lovino could do that.

If only he could forget the weight of the dagger in his hand; the look on Captain Ennio's eyes; Carriedo's cruel laugh and order: _Kill him_.

He heard Antonio curse under his breath. The pirate seemed to have deflated: he was laying against the wall at his back, all his previous anger replaced by an expression Lovino couldn't quite read.

"I'm sorry," he said after a few seconds.

The apology didn't surprise Lovino. The fact that it sounded genuine sure did.

"Oh, he's _sorry_. Well, I suppose that settles it—it never happened." Now he was crying and laughing at the same time. He must have looked quite pathetic.

"I wasn't thinking straight. I'm… I'm not usually like that."

"No, I'm sure you're not." He shook his head; a laugh won over the sobs. "God, I should have just let you _die_. I'd have made the world a favour."

"I agree. Why didn't you?"

What had he answered the first time Antonio had asked about his motives? Some bullshit about redemption and second chances. "Because it's what I do," he said now. The laughter died, completely swallowed by the sobs. "I save lives; I don't—I don't take them." He dropped his face on his hands to muffle a scream against them. His breathing was fast and ragged — he was on the brink of hyperventilation.

 _Breathe_ , he ordered himself. _Slowly — in and out; in and out; in and—_

"Lovino," came Antonio's voice then.

The first thing that shocked him was how _soft_ it was. He had never heard that tone in the pirate captain before; not even when he talked to Francis or Alistair.

The second thing was realizing that it was the first time that Antonio addressed him by his name.

Slowly, _very_ slowly, he lowered his hands. Antonio had knelt before him, allowing Lovino to look down at him, and the worry and guilt were so visible on his face that for a second Lovino thought he must be facing a different person.

"I've treated you horribly," Antonio said then, "and I know saying sorry won't take it back. I don't expect you to forgive me. The only thing I ask of you is that you trust me. I gave you my word that I'd take you home, and I intend to keep it."

Lovino dried the tears off his cheeks with his sleeve. "Okay," he mumbled. It sounded half-hearted even to him.

"You may not like it, but I assure you, my ship is the safest place for you right now."

"Okay."

"I'm sorry," apologized Antonio a second time as he stood up.

Lovino breathed out all the air in his lungs and fell back against the wall behind him. The panic and the tears had gone, leaving room for anger. He stared at Antonio dead in the eye as he asked: "Do you truly regret it?"

The pirate held his gaze, yet still took a few breaths before answering: "I regret making you do it," he said, serious. "But I don't regret he's dead."

Lovino chuckled in disbelief. "You don't regret—My God, you're the _worst_ ," he spat. Antonio frowned in protest, but Lovino cut him before he could even open his mouth: "Did you even remember him before today? Shit, you don't even know what his name was!"

He would have kept yelling, but Antonio's glare froze him in place.

The pirate was _livid_.

His jaw was clenched so tight his mouth was a thin line on his face. His nostrils twitched with every ragged breath he took in, and his burning green eyes were focused entirely on Lovino. At his sides, his hands were closed into white-knuckled fists, and his whole body trembled in rage.

"You assume too much," he hissed, and for a moment Lovino feared he was going to go berserk on him.

The fright on his face must have been too obvious — Antonio closed his eyes, took a big gulp of air, and Lovino heard him count to ten under his breath. When he looked at him again, his eyes still betrayed a little anger, although it was nothing in comparison to before.

"His name was Ennio Messina," Antonio said then, his voice cold and calm. "He was the fifth son of a noble Italian family; when he was twelve, his parents sent him to Spain to get military and naval training." He leant forward as he spoke, towering over Lovino. "Six years he lived in my town; six years of my life he made sure to make as miserable as possible.

"You said I'm the worst? I still have a scar from the time he broke a tree branch on my head. He was fourteen; I was only nine."

Lovino cowered a bit, but held Antonio's gaze, out of stubbornness if not bravery. "Are you saying he deserved what you did to him?"

"I'm saying that you reap what you sow." He seemed to realize then how threatening his stance was and he retreated a couple steps, straightening. "You can look down on me all you want from your moral high ground, but don't commit the mistake of thinking I'm the only scumbag down here."

" _Scumbag_ ," Lovino parroted. "At least we agree there."

"Yay," said Antonio, his sarcasm almost palpable. Then he sighed, and it was like all his energy left him at once. He looked tired. "Come on," he said, placing a hand on Lovino's shoulder. "Let's go back to the ship."

Lovino, although he nodded in agreement, also smacked him away, and Antonio respectfully kept his distance all the way to the docks.

~{x}~{§}~{x}~

Francis greeted them with a smile, but the way Lovino stormed off to his cabin wiped it off his face. He turned to Antonio, who had an even more pensive expression than he had had when they had been at the doors of Alistair's castle.

"We're all aboard, so I've given order to leave with the tide," he informed, carefully watching Antonio's face for any kind of hint.

"Okay."

"In an hour, at most, we'll be back at sea."

"Hmm."

"I've been thinking of the better route for the following days — you know one can never be too careful when crossing Gibraltar."

"Great."

That was more than Francis was willing to accept. "For God's sake, Antonio, what the hell happened between you two?" he asked, lowering his voice to keep the conversation as confidential as possible.

Antonio snapped out of his pensive trance to look at him. He hesitated for a moment, and then: "Nothing," he said. "Nothing happened."

Clearly _something_ had happened, but Francis knew better than to press Antonio for answers, so he simply raised his hands in surrender. "Okay. I'll supervise everything. You can go lie down for a while — no offense, but you look like you need it."

"Thanks." Antonio's smile was small, but sincere. Francis smiled back, and was already leaving when he was called: "Hey, Fran?"

"Yes?"

"Am I a bad person?"

"You're a _pirate_ , dear," he chuckled, "it goes with the job." That answer wasn't enough, he saw it in the green eyes staring back at him. He sighed and smiled fondly at his friend. "No, you're not. Honest to God. Aside from, you know, the piracy and the murder and whatnots."

The smile grew bigger in Antonio's lips. "Thanks," he mumbled.

"You're welcome. Now go take some rest; I'll fetch you if anything happens."

Antonio nodded and made a beeline to his cabin.

Francis watched him go, unable to stop wondering what had happened in town between the Spanish captain and the Italian doctor.

~{x}~{§}~{x}~

Two whole days had passed since their argument, and Lovino couldn't stop thinking about it.

That, by itself, wasn't a bad thing.

The problem came when, instead of focusing on the insults or the anger or even Carriedo's story with Captain Ennio, his mind chose to recall only the image of Antonio apologizing. In truth, it had been a sigh to behold — Lovino had never seen the pirate show emotions other than rage and dark amusement so openly, not even on the two occasions when he'd been playing his guitar. That look in his eyes when he had knelt… Lovino knew he'd hardly forget it.

"If you keep daydreaming like that, you're going to chop off a finger."

Raúl's voice brought him back to the present.

They hadn't had much wind lately, so the ship (and, by extension, her crew) was idle. The cook had asked for help, and Raúl had volunteered both of them. Now they were on a side on deck, a barrel of salted meat between them, and they were slicing the meat into thin strips.

"I'm not daydreaming," Lovino protested, which only made the pirate laugh. "Hey… Can I ask you something?"

"Sure!"

He put down the knife so he could look at his face. "Why have you always been so nice to me?"

If Raúl thought it was an odd question, he didn't let it show. "I like you," he said, shrugging. "Besides, you know, I was the one who found you, so I feel kinda responsible. Besides—" he paused for a beat, long enough to stare into Lovino's eyes, "—I _like_ you."

It took Lovino a moment to realize what implications the second _like_ carried with it. He blushed, but he was so mentally tired from remembering the argument that he didn't have it in himself to be scandalized. "Shit, you too are…?" He looked down at the knife in his hand, unable to hold Raúl's gaze any longer.

"An ambidextrous," the pirate finished his question, answering it at the same time.

"This bloody ship is infested," Lovino grumbled. "How many are you?"

"More than you think. Much more than you want to believe. It's really not that rare, Lovino." Raúl's voice had gone softer, and something in it made Lovino look back at him. He was smiling warmly at him. "In fact, one might even be inclined to call it _normal_."

He wanted to retort something clever, but his voice had abandoned him, and the way Raúl was staring at him definitely didn't help matters.

"I know my limits," the pirate said, quiet but firm. "I won't overstep them."

Lovino nodded, not sure if he should thank him or run away to his cabin.

However, before he could decide his next course of action, a tap on his shoulder claimed his attention. Startled, he looked to the side only to find the tip of a sheath. Antonio was holding it.

When he saw he had his attention, the pirate swirled the sheath in his hand, presenting Lovino with the pommel of the sword instead.

"You said you wanted to learn, didn't you?" he said, anticipating Lovino's question.

He understood.

And only hesitated for a moment before accepting the sword.

* * *

 _AN: Hello and welcome back to "Let's See How Many Of My Ships With Spain I Can Throw In Here Before Reaching Spamano"! On today's episode: Denmark and Netherlands! :D Sorry, I really can't help myself n_n" But these are the last! Promise!_

 _That being said — did anyone spot the Mean Girls reference? :P I have no regrets. Well, I lie — I do deeply regret not having given Antonio earrings from the start. It was about I remedied that ;) (Also, the nerd in me gave him Trafalgar Law's earrings, just because.)_

 _What I said at the beginning: I have no fucking clue when I'll have the time to keep writing this :'D (I have already used it too much to procrastinate...) But know that I have no intention of leaving this unfinished! (Although, you know, reviews are great motivations n_n)_


	13. Chapter XIII

_AN: Welp. It's been six months (and four days). Sorry. I've had a very busy summer, and a very busy start of the school year... It probably hasn't helped that I've started rewatching One Piece from the start... n_n" Also, this chapter turned out to be tougher to write than I expected :/ But hopefully it's worth the wait!_

 _Hope you enjoy it! :D_

 _PS. To the Guest who left a review in Italian: me too, man, me too. Seriously, the slow burn I've set here was killing even me, to the point where I had to write a completely separate one-shot just to satisfy my Spamano needs :'D (Also, I don't speak a word of Italian yet I understood practically the entire comment xD I love that Spanish and Italian (and Portuguese) are so similar~)_

* * *

 **TIGHT ROPE**

 **Chapter XIII**

"First things first: turn around."

Lovino eyed Antonio warily. "What for?" he inquired, taking a small step back.

"Just turn around."

"What for?"

"Will you _please_ turn around?"

Reluctant, Lovino obeyed, and flinched when he felt Antonio's hands on his hair, pulling it back. The pirate muttered something along the lines of "still too short for a ponytail", then wrapped a kerchief around his head. "There," he said, tying it with a tight knot. "You don't want your hair falling into your eyes while you fight."

Lovino stilled. Then, slowly, he reached for the bandana, touching it with shaky fingers. His hair had always been short. His mother had given him a haircut before he had left; he had gotten another one after finishing his businesses in Spain. How long has it been since then? A lot, obviously, although he hadn't realized how much his hair had grown.

He didn't realize he'd said that out-loud until Antonio replied: "Yes. You're also taller."

And now he didn't know which was worse: that he hadn't noticed that either, or that it had been Antonio, of all people, the one to tell him.

He briefly wondered if his family would recognize him upon his return, but he was quick to push the thought aside. Instead, he focused on the sword in his hand — a small rapier, not so different from the ones he used to practice with. It was light.

"I thought that one might suit you, but if it feels uncomfortable, tell me," said Antonio. "There are more spares we can check if you want."

"No, this one's fine. Good. It's, um, yes, it's nice." Lovino closed his eyes, embarrassed by his eloquence, and his voice came out squeaky when he added: "Thanks."

Antonio raised an eyebrow (not that Lovino could see it, but he could _feel_ it), but said nothing about it. He simply patted his shoulder, silently telling him to come along, and took him to a secluded part on deck that Lovino could only assume was reserved for this kind of things.

He tried to pay no mind to the poorly disguised glances the crew was sending their way.

"Alright." Antonio unsheathed his cutlass. He wasn't wearing his coat or anything that might have given away his position as captain — just a white shirt (that, again, he hadn't bothered to button all the way to the top), dark trousers and his tattered boots. "Show me what you got."

Lovino's palm was sweaty where it closed around the rapier's pommel. "I haven't really practiced my fencing in a while," he said, feeling self-conscious.

"It's okay," Antonio reassured him, and there was something about him (his relaxed stance, his soft features, the calm look in his eyes) that eased Lovino's worries. "Let's see what you can do and work based on that."

A nod.

A deep breath.

Lovino sprung forward, the tip of his weapon pointing to Antonio's chest. It was easily deflected, as were all his following attacks, but the pirate didn't laugh or sneer. He was simply observing with the keen eye of a professional, studying Lovino's moves.

"You _are_ a little rusty," he said when Lovino stopped for a breath, "but you've got the basics. Good stance, too. Although you tend to move in a straight line."

"That's the way I was taught."

Antonio hummed. "Attack me again."

Lovino did.

Antonio blocked his sword, then suddenly moved to his left. Acting on pure instinct, Lovino managed to dodge his attack — but then Antonio was suddenly on the right, and the tip of his cutlass was caressing Lovino's neck.

"You're dead." Antonio moved his sword to Lovino's chin and made him raise his head to look him in the eye. "Moving in a straight line in an actual battle will get you killed."

"Okay. How do I move, then?"

"If it's a one on one, it's easy." As he spoke, he retreated a few steps. Lovino raised his rapier. Their blades touched. "You want me to be in front of you, always. So, if I take a step to the right…"

Lovino moved to his right.

"Good. And if I move to the left…"

Lovino moved to his left.

"Good." There was a gleam in Antonio's eyes. "Let's go a little faster."

His steps became quicker, more agile. Lovino followed his every move, clumsier at first, but steadily gaining confidence. Their blades clashed again as they moved, swirling around the deck, and Lovino knew Antonio was going easy on him — it _was_ a class, after all — yet he felt proud that he was keeping up with him.

He was also aware that the entire crew was most definitely watching them now, and he found himself not caring.

"Harder!" Antonio exclaimed.

And then he was moving even faster, his cutlass cutting through the air with renewed strength. It was tougher to follow, and he must have noticed, because he helpfully started to call where he was going to move ("Right! Right! Left! Right again! Good!").

Lovino put all his senses into the fight. His ears listened to Antonio's voice; his eyes followed his every move. He was barely thinking now — his body moved on its own, blocking Antonio's blows, moving opposite of him.

"Left!"

Lovino moved to his left, keeping Antonio always in front of him.

"Right!"

Lovino froze for a fraction of a second. Antonio's mouth had said _Right_ — but his body language said _Left_.

If asked about it later, Lovino wouldn't have been able to explain how he reacted so quickly. He just did. His body, already leaning to the right, changed direction abruptly, moving to his left instead.

There was a clear _clang_ when their blades clashed. Lovino felt a sharp pang on his wrist (Antonio had hit way stronger than before) but clenched his jaw and held his ground.

And then, next thing he knew, there was a snapping sound, and he tumbled forward. Antonio's sharp cutlass missed him by a hair.

Panting, Lovino raised his rapier to eye level. It had broken around the middle, too weak against Antonio's better metal. Where the other half had ended up, Lovino had no idea. "Uh…" He turned to Antonio and showed him what was left of his sword. "I don't think I can go on."

Antonio stared at the broken blade for a few seconds.

"Oops."

~{x}~{§}~{x}~

"It's a lot like dancing," was the first thing Lovino said after he recovered his breath.

Antonio glanced at him. They had sat together to rest (although Lovino was admittedly way more worn out than Antonio) and now, from a quiet corner at the shade, they were idly watching the crew working on deck.

"Yes," Antonio nodded after a beat, agreeing to Lovino's statement. "Only here there's a winner." He hesitated for a moment, and then: "You're quite good," he said, and felt Lovino's surprise at the easy compliment. "There are still many rough edges we'll need to work on, but with enough practice you'll be on par with some of my men in no time."

"Really?" Lovino mumbled, blushing loudly.

"You're very intuitive. And that's some amazing reflexes you've got there."

"I guess I have Feli to thank for that," he chuckled. "Feli — that's my little brother — when he was a toddler, he loved to grab things and just… toss them around. I happened to be his favourite moving bullseye."

"Sounds like a bother."

"He's not!" Lovino exclaimed, indignant. "He's my little brother and I'd do anything for him." His scowl softened a little when he asked: "Do you have any siblings?"

Antonio stilled for a second, then shook his head. "No. No siblings." His gaze landed on Francis, who was overseeing the crew, and added: "Not by blood, at least."

And Lovino must have caught his line of sight, for he asked: "How long have you known Francis for?"

He pondered for a moment. "Twelve or thirteen years," he finally answered. "I think."

"That's a lifetime. Feli is barely fourteen."

"I guess."

Silence enveloped them. Antonio was staring at his crew, but Lovino was fidgeting by his side, and he was thinking so _loud_ it was distracting.

And it was a bit odd, Antonio realized, the two of them sitting together and chatting as if nothing had ever happened. Because Lovino clearly hadn't forgotten, much less forgiven. Which was fine — Antonio didn't expect him to, and he could carry the burden on his conscience — but it certainly didn't make the new dynamic any easier.

The fighting was easy. Antonio had meant every single word he'd said to Lovino; he'd been genuinely surprised by the boy's quick reflexes. He looked forward to seeing what else he was capable of.

But this — resting together, relaxing, creating small talk — this was more than Antonio could take. It felt artificial. And it wasn't like either of them wanted to become best buddies, not by a long shot.

"Are we done for today?" Lovino asked then.

"Yes."

Without another word, Lovino stood up and left hurriedly, going straight to his cabin.

Antonio watched him go, thoughtful. One of his hands made it to his hair, to the scar on his scalp, and his finger traced it slowly. _Do not trust them_ , the rough skin said. _They're all the same_.

The fresh scar on his chest itched, as if protesting. _He wasn't_.

And Antonio found himself conflicted.

~{x}~{§}~{x}~

The second time Antonio went looking for him, Lovino greeted him with a polite smile that, he hoped, managed to hide his excitement.

In all the years he'd studied fencing, he never once thought he might actually look forward to it. He'd never liked his teacher: an old man who'd been all about _form_ and _grace_ and _your hand was half an inch lower than it should — disgraceful_. And ten whole years of that were bound to make anyone hate it.

Antonio's lesson the other day (only yesterday, although it felt like longer) had been like glancing into a whole new world: dynamic and thrilling and _fun_. Lovino had found more excitement condensed in barely half an hour than what he had had spread over a decade. And he was aching for more.

The only downside was, of course, having Antonio Carriedo for a teacher. A detail that Lovino was willing to overlook, but that didn't make the whole experience entirely enjoyable.

He now followed him into the brig, where Antonio had taken him to without explanation, and Lovino found himself chuckling nervously: "You're not going to chain me up again, are you?"

"Don't tempt me," replied Antonio, but he didn't even glance at the shackles on the wall and instead went straight to a small door on the other end of the room.

It led to a smaller room that seemed to act as an armoury. There were barrels labelled as gunpowder, boxes full of cannonballs, and two buckets with pistols and different kinds of swords.

"Let's see if we can find one that fits you that doesn't break as easily," Antonio said, kneeling next to the swords.

Lovino inched closer and peeked at the pistols. "Can you teach me how to fire one of those?"

"Maybe. Not today. Here," he handed him a rapier, "try this one."

They sparred for about an hour. Antonio was still on a much higher level than him, but he was, Lovino soon found out, an exceptional teacher. He corrected his mistakes, explained why they could get him killed, helped him improve. There was an aura of confidence about him that Lovino hadn't seen before. It wasn't the kind of confidence he bore when he ordered his crew around or when he walked around a town of criminals; it was the kind of confidence that inspired trust, one that made Lovino listen intently to his every word and follow his advice.

At the end of their practice, Antonio made him return the rapier and locked it again in the small armoury. Lovino felt insulted — was he not trustworthy enough to trust with a weapon? — but decided not to protest.

The lessons left him in a good mood he'd rather not spoil.

~{x}~{§}~{x}~

Antonio was teaching Lovino how to load a pistol.

Francis pretended to work on the logbook, but he was too distracted by the sight.

For starters, he couldn't believe how close to each other they were sitting. Out of necessity, yes, for it was a complicated process and Lovino needed to watch carefully everything Antonio did, yet it still was shocking. It wasn't that long ago that both of them were ready to rip each other's throat apart.

And then there was how at ease they were. Antonio explained patiently, Lovino listened intently, and if Francis didn't know any better he would have thought they'd been doing that for months. Then again, he had noticed that it only lasted for as long as they were in a lesson. The moment the class ended, they returned to their show of pretending the other didn't exist.

A shame, in Francis' humble opinion.

"So now it's loaded?" Lovino asked, raising his pistol.

"Yes," answered Antonio, pushing it away form his face with a warning stare. "It's not very precise, so often you just shoot at a large group of enemies and hope it'll hit someone."

"And then you have to do _all that_ again?"

Francis couldn't help but smile at the astounded question. It was true that loading a pistol was a long and tedious process. Which, again in his humble opinion, was not worth it.

"Yes," Antonio nodded again. "But since you don't have the time to do that in the middle of a battle, you only get one shot."

"And then what? You have a useless pistol with you?"

"Useless? Oh, I shouldn't think so."

Francis watched with amusement how Antonio grabbed his pistol from the cannon and made a motion as if to hit Lovino with the handle, and how Lovino flinched first and got angry second.

And what would they think, Francis wondered, if they could see themselves from the outside like he did.

~{x}~{§}~{x}~

"I'm not sure this is a good idea," Lovino chuckled nervously.

Antonio barely glanced at him.

It all had started two days ago, when a violent storm had caught them as they approached the strait of Gibraltar. Lovino, knowing full well that he'd only be in danger (and a hindrance, although he wasn't ready to admit that) if he stayed outside, had retreated to his cabin.

Apparently, it was said retreat what caught Antonio's eye.

"You can't walk for shit on a moving ship," he'd told him. "You wobbled more than a drunk duck." And then, after Lovino protested: "What, you don't seriously expect the ship to be nice and steady in a battle, do you? You need to work on that balance of yours or you'll be dead meat in the blink of an eye."

"Okay," Lovino had spat. "So how the hell do I do that?"

Antonio's grin had told him that he wasn't going to like it.

And now he was confirming it as the boat they were both in was steadily lowered onto the sea.

They were too close to the water on that thing, and it moved too much. That was the point of the whole thing, Lovino knew it, but it didn't make it any more pleasant. He was tense, completely still where he sat, his hands holding onto the boat with rigid fingers.

"Your balance won't get any better if you're sitting," Antonio said, speaking for the first time since they'd gotten in the boat.

Reluctant and very, very slowly, Lovino stood up, his legs shaking, and his hands never letting go of the boat. "I'm really not sure about this," he insisted.

"It's the fastest way to get your body used to a moving ship."

"Yes, but…" he bit his lip. "What if I fall?"

"Can you swim?"

"No."

Antonio smiled. "Don't fall."

Ah.

There was nothing like a good incentive to get Lovino to get down to business.

Wanting to wipe that evil smile off that bastard's face was more than enough for now.

He straightened, glaring at Antonio with what he hoped was a deadly stare, and defiantly crossed his arms before his chest. He only wished his legs didn't feel like jelly.

Antonio was totally unimpressed. "There. It wasn't that difficult, was it?"

"You fucking bastard," hissed Lovino.

He remembered a tad too late that the pirate captain didn't quite like it when he was addressed like that.

Antonio moved sudden and purposefully, leaning all his weight to one side of the boat, making it tumble. Lovino lost his balance and fell on his side, hitting his ribs against the edge.

" _Oof_ —"

"You'll have to do better than that," said Antonio, his smile all teeth and everything but reassuring.

"I hate you," Lovino growled back as he stood again.

"What else is new?"

The boat jerked again and Lovino tumbled with it, but managed to stay on his feet. His eyes gleamed with a challenge that Antonio was more than happy to meet. He kept rocking the boat, his moves erratic and arrhythmic to avoid Lovino from growing comfortable, and it only took a couple of minutes for the teacher to emerge again from where the upset pirate had buried him.

"Spread your legs a little wider—yes, I know there's not much space, but it'll be easier to keep balanced… _That's it_! Good! See? Better, eh?"

He started moving harder, the small boat jerking heavily beneath them. Lovino smiled nervously at the new pace, but soon got used to it and stayed on his feet with relative ease.

"Hah!" he exclaimed, grinning. "How's that, you bastard?"

Antonio's eye twitched.

And his next move was rougher than intended.

The previous momentum plus that new impulse had the boat going over its limit.

Later, Lovino would remember everything as happening too fast, but on that very moment he lived everything in slow motion. The boat leaning dangerously close to the side, the splash of the keel as it broke the surface, the sudden realization that the boat was nearly vertical.

Antonio's face, which went from annoyance to surprise to regret in the span of a second.

Then they fell into the water.

It was cold and salty and, as Lovino found out the bad way, really itchy if one were to accidentally breathe it in. Panicking, he started to wave his arms and legs around, not knowing what he was doing or which way was up, the only certainty being that he was _drowning drowning drown_ —

There was something around his body then; something he really hoped was a human arm and not the Kraken or any other sea creature, mythical or not. And he was being pushed (towards the surface, he hoped), his body nearly weightless, and the shock of the fall was still so recent that the thought that it might be Antonio didn't even cross his mind.

His head emerged and he gasped for air. He splashed around blindly, and then someone was pushing him forward until his hands touched what he could only assume was the flipped-over boat. Coughing, Lovino held tightly to the wet wood, and finally felt safe enough to stop worrying about himself and start being angry.

There was seawater in his eyes. He had drunk a mouthful of seawater. He had _breathed_ a mouthful seawater. He couldn't see past the tears in his eyes and he could barely hear anything over the sound of his own coughs.

And it was all the bastard's fault.

Lovino rubbed his eyes furiously — he wanted to glare at Antonio, and he needed to actually see him for that — but as his coughs quietened, he was distracted by a sound.

It took him a moment to realize that Antonio was laughing.

And he had heard the pirate laugh before, but never like _that_.

Antonio had a cruel laugh, and a condescending laugh, and a menacing laugh. Antonio laughed at others, over others, about others. Antonio's laugh was yet another weapon, perhaps not as deadly as his cutlass, but it cut just as deep.

Or that was what Lovino had believed.

The laugh he heard now was loud and unapologetic and _joyful_. It was honest, the kind of genuine laugh that makes you feel like laughing too. It would have made Lovino smile, had he not been so stunned, but his anger _was_ appeased by the cheerful sound.

He cracked an eye open and glanced at Antonio: he was at his side, only his head above the surface of the water, and his body was convulsing so much from all the laughter that he was having trouble staying afloat. He tried to grab a hold of the boat, failed, sank a little more and drank a mouthful of seawater; and now he was laughing and coughing at the same time, splashing around as he attempted to attach himself to the boat.

It was the most undignified Lovino had ever seen him.

"Shit. Fuck." Antonio cursed between giggles when he finally managed to grab the boat firmly enough not to sink.

Lovino narrowed his eyes into a glare. "I hate you," he stated.

Antonio looked at him, no longer laughing, but the smile on his face big and bright. His eyes gleamed with mirth and had they always been so _green_? Lovino suddenly thought that he looked five years younger, and that he was very handsome when he smiled like that. Then he realized what he had just thought and looked away, his face heating up.

"Sorry," said Antonio then, chuckling. "My bad. I miscalculated."

"I will kill you in your sleep."

"Good plan. It's the only situation in which you'd stand a chance."

Lovino grumbled, trying to come up with a comeback, but then someone called: "Everything alright, captain?"

They looked up to the ship and saw Francis, who stared back at them trying without much success to hide his grin. Antonio laughed and raised a hand with a thumbs-up. Francis cracked a smile.

"Need a hand?"

"A rope would be much appreciated, yes," Antonio shouted back.

To no one's surprise, Francis was already prepared, and seconds later he was tossing two ropes at them. One was tightly tied to the railing; the other he held in his hand.

Antonio grabbed the former and passed the later to Lovino. "Hold this," he said, then submerged. When he resurfaced without the rope, Lovino could only assume he had tied it to the boat. "Right. Come here."

Lovino froze. "What."

"Come here," Antonio insisted and, when Lovino failed to move, sighed and swam to his side. "I still haven't mastered the art of flying, so I'll be needing the rope as well, it that's alright with you."

Lovino wanted to say that no, it was _so_ not alright with him, but before he could find his voice Antonio had already stolen the rope from him and had wrapped an arm around his waist. "H-Hey," he started to protest, but then Antonio dragged him away from the boat and he yelped, instinctively throwing his arms around Antonio's neck for support.

"Hold tight," the pirate advised as he twisted the rope around his free arm, then tugged at it.

"Wai—"

And then they were being pulled out of the water.

Lovino screamed when he found himself in the air and wrapped himself completely around Antonio, holding onto him like a koala. "Don't drop me," he pleaded, shutting his eyes tightly.

"It's not like I could, even if I wanted to," Antonio pointed out, amused. "Scared of heights?"

"No. Scared of falling."

"Ah, I think that's what Francis tends to call _common sense_. He insists that I lack one."

"Agreed."

Antonio breathed out in mock offense and Lovino shuddered when he felt it on his cheek, suddenly becoming aware of how close they were, how desperately he was clinging to the pirate. He was starting to feel sick in his stomach, and he wasn't sure it was only due to the height.

It felt like an eternity until they finally reached the edge of the ship and Lovino could _finally_ let go of Antonio. Raúl helped him over the railing, an amused expression on his face, and Francis did the proper with Antonio.

"How was the bath?" teased Raúl.

Lovino glared at him, then shivered when the wind blew and raised goosebumps on his skin. He was drenched — his clothes, his hair, _everything_. "Cold," he answered, shuddering, and accepted the blanket Raúl handed to him.

"Come on, it's only the Mediterranean," intervened Antonio, waving his hand around as if saying that it wasn't that bad.

"Yes, and it's also _February_ ," replied Francis.

February, _already_. Lovino fought back the urge to ask Francis for the exact date — he didn't dare knowing exactly how long ago he'd left home. Months, he knew that much, but now it suddenly felt like years.

He felt colder, and there was little the blanket on his shoulders could do to warm him up.

~{x}~{§}~{x}~

Antonio woke up with a start, his body tense and unrested, the last traces of a nightmare still in his head. He took in a few ragged breaths, trying to get his heartbeat to _calm down_. At least he hadn't started screaming this time. What had the nightmare even been about? Tentatively he closed his eyes — there were flashes of blood, of cruel laughter, of that _grin_ he fought everyday to forget — and reopened them a second later.

There was no going back to sleep tonight.

Groaning he stood up. The sky outside was still dark — it was a few hours until dawn. Briefly he considered going to Francis, but soon decided against it. His friend deserved some rest.

Then, as his gaze wandered around his cabin, he noticed his cutlass resting on his desk, and he knew what to do.

~{x}~{§}~{x}~

Lovino's body hit the floor, and it took him a moment to notice he'd fallen from his hammock. No, not fallen — _dropped_ , he realized when he opened his eyes and saw Antonio's tattered boots in front of him.

"What—?" he mumbled, still too sleepy to be angry.

Antonio tossed a rapier in front of him. "Practice," he simply said, and not waiting for him to follow, left the cabin.

 _Screw him_ , a voice said in Lovino's head, urging him to go back to sleep.

 _Screw him_ , hissed another one, enraged by the manners of his awakening and demanding retribution.

Lovino elected to listen to the second one.

Groaning, he stood up from the floor, picked up the rapier and stumbled outside. It was cold and he shuddered, shaking off the last traces of sleep. Antonio was waiting for him with his unsheathed cutlass in his right hand and a bottle of rum in the left.

He attacked without a word.

And he was upset, Lovino noticed after exchanging a few blows. His moves lacked their usual elegance and were instead raw, angry. He was venting.

"What's the matter with you?" asked Lovino, frowning.

Antonio's eyes gleamed in the moonlight, his only answer being attacking with renewed strength.

It had been two days since their accidental dip in the sea. In all that time, the pirate had been in a previously unseen good mood, laughing and cracking jokes all the time. And Lovino had already grasped that Antonio's mood swings could be quite unpredictable, but it irked him that it was him who had to pay for it.

Screaming, he attacked with rage, hoping to catch Antonio unprepared with his sudden change of pace.

Then, somehow, his rapier was no longer in his hand, and Antonio's cutlass caressed his neck. There was a _clang_ somewhere at his back — his rapier hitting the wooden floor, he realized, and _how the hell had Antonio managed to do that?_

"Don't lose your temper," the pirate said then, and while he spoke with his usual teacher voice, there was something else lurking beneath. "I thought I'd already taught you that."

Lovino felt the cold kiss of the blade on his neck, then the warmth of his own blood where it spilled. It was barely a scratch, a provocation more than anything else, and Lovino willed himself not to react farther than sharpening his glare.

Antonio grinned. "Practice finished," he announced as he retired. "Go back to bed."

An order Lovino would not follow. He was too awake now, too active.

And, suddenly, he was too eager to get some answers.

~{x}~{§}~{x}~

Antonio sat heavily on the floor, leaning against the mast, and promptly opened the bottle in his hand, downing almost a quarter in one go.

"Has anyone ever told you that you drink too much?" came Lovino's voice. Why was he still there?

"You'd be surprised," Antonio replied dryly. Francis told him nearly every week. Arthur pointed it out every time they met, and Alistair had given him a stern warning the last time they'd seen each other. None of them had managed to make him quit.

Lovino hummed and walked a little closer. "You know…" he said, and Antonio groaned. He was starting to regret having woken him up. "I've been thinking lately."

"Dangerous pastime."

"About something Raúl told me."

Antonio sighed, downed another mouthful of rum, and made a mental note to have a chat with his subordinate.

"He said," Lovino went on, "that you can be very picky with the ships you attack. _Caprices_ , he called them."

That much was true. No point in denying it. "Yes. What about it?"

"He said that the attack on my ship was one of your _caprices_."

Antonio gave him a challenging glare. " _Yes_. What about it?"

"After what you told me, I assumed it was because of Captain Ennio," Lovino said, serious, and Antonio felt his fingers clench around the bottle at the mention of that name. "But then I thought that he'd been captaining our trading ships for years. If this had been about him, you'd have had plenty of other occasions to get him."

"Meeting him on you ship was a pleasant surprise," Antonio admitted, letting his increasing anger tint his words. He didn't like the turn the conversation was having. "You should have seen his face when he recognized me."

Lovino didn't seem to be very impressed. There was a look in his eyes that Antonio couldn't quite read, but that was making him nervous. "Then I realized that it was the very first time you attacked one of our ships," he went on. "That you didn't even know who I was. And then, of course, is the matter of that man you want to kill."

Antonio tensed. "So?"

" _So_ you didn't attack us because of me or my family — your goal was the other part, our new business partner from Spain."

Antonio dropped his gaze and kept it fixed on the floorboards right in front of him. He couldn't trust himself to look at Lovino in the eye and not explode. His right hand was closed into a white-knuckled fist, his nails digging into his palm, and his lips were twisted into a crooked, angry grin.

"I can only assume that you want to screw up his business by attacking all the ships that trade with him, and you hope that maybe one day you'll catch him the way you caught me." Lovino made a pause to catch his breath — he was nervous, Antonio noticed, for all that he was trying to look certain — and added: "Am I wrong?"

It wasn't a question that demanded an answer. Antonio thought his reactions must have been confirmation enough to Lovino that he had been spot-on on his assumptions. But he couldn't let him win just like that.

"You're too clever for your own good," he said, hoping there was enough sullen menace in his voice.

Lovino didn't even flinch. "Why," he asked, flat.

"Why what?"

"Why do you want to kill him?"

Antonio let out a strangled sound that could have been interpreted as a laugh. "It's none of your business," he hissed.

"Oh no, don't give me that crap again," Lovino protested, walking closer with purpose. "Turns out, it _is_ my business, because I wouldn't have been caught up in all this shit if it weren't for your—your— _obsession_ with that man," he spat. "His name is Santiago Fernández de Rojas and—"

 _CRASH!_

Antonio didn't let him finish. Hearing that name provoked a visceral reaction in him and, before he knew it, he had slammed the bottle in his hand against the floor. It shattered with a loud clash, effectively shutting Lovino up. Sharp shards of glass sank into Antonio's palm, slicing it open, the rum burning into the open wounds. He welcomed the pain, let it fuel his rage, and when he looked up at Lovino, the boy took a step back.

He looked scared.

 _Good_.

"He's a good man," Lovino argued, weakly. He looked tense, like he was ready to flee any moment.

" _He's a poor excuse for a human being!_ " Antonio growled, jumping to his feet and towering over Lovino.

There was a flash of rebellion in the boy's amber eyes, like he wanted to point out that Antonio wasn't exactly a prime example of humane behaviour, but when he spoke, his calm question was something else entirely: "What is he to you?"

Antonio forced himself to breathe steadily, in and out, deep breaths. His right hand clenched around his cutlass' pommel — it was already halfway out of its sheath, and it was nothing short of a miracle that Antonio's mind had been clear enough to stop himself before striking. Slowly, he sheathed his blade again.

And when he spoke, his voice carried his anger away:

"He's my father."

He saw Lovino's shock in his eyes, in the way his mouth fell open, in the way he looked at him as if he were seeing him for the first time.

"Holy shit," Lovino gasped. "Holy shit you look like him."

~{x}~{§}~{x}~

Antonio frowned and Lovino realized, a tad too late, that perhaps it hadn't been the smartest thing to say.

But it was true.

He remembered easily the features of Santiago Fernández, even though it had been many weeks since he had met him in Spain. He remembered short brown hair, already greying, and a well-groomed dark beard. Antonio had long hair and was always perfectly shaven, but that was as far as the differences went. They had the same jawline, the same nose, the same lips. They had the same eyes, the same olive-green irises.

The resemblance was so big that Lovino felt stupid for not having seen it before.

"He never mentioned he had a son," he mumbled, still too awe-struck to think properly.

"Well, you wouldn't expect him to boast about me, would you?" Antonio snarked.

Lovino shook his head slowly. "No, I don't think so." He made a pause, thinking carefully what he was going to say next. "He, um… His wife passed away not too long ago."

"Hm?"

He had expected a bigger reaction. "Aren't you sad?" he inquired. If Antonio hadn't killed him already, what risk could there be in being a little nosier? "She was your mother."

Antonio tilted his head to the side, his mouth a thin line and an unreadable look in his eyes. "He's my father," he said then, "but his wife wasn't my mother."

 _Oh_. Lovino's eyes opened wide in realization. "Ah. You're a, um, a…"

"What's the matter? You've been using the word to insult me all this time and now you can't say it?" Antonio snarked. There was something akin to hurt in his voice.

"… a bastard," Lovino finished in a small voice, downcast. "Sorry. I didn't know."

"My mother," said Antonio in an even voice, "was one of the housemaids. He slept with all of them. That he only ever had one child is…" He shook his head with a humourless chuckle. "People often told me I was one in a million. How _lucky_ I was to have been born."

The tone of his voice suggested he had a different opinion on whether he had been lucky at all. Lovino felt a sudden chill.

"All the other kids I ever got to mingle with were all legitimate children of noblemen, or rich businessmen. They all were _too good_ for me." There was resentment in his voice now. "They laughed at me. Beat me up. I was the weak one and they knew no one would stand up for me." He moved closer to Lovino, and his voice was lower when he added: "It wasn't always the same group. Different people came and went. And yet they always behaved the same way. Always the same.

"You're all the same."

Lovino looked up at him, met his eyes, and purposefully replied: "I'm not."

Antonio snorted, but didn't say another word or moved, and Lovino fidgeted on the spot, not knowing what to do or say. All the information he had either confirmed or acquired was spiralling in his head, distracting him from the present.

Then his gaze landed on Antonio's left hand — it was completely covered in blood and rum, and even from a distance Lovino could see the glass shards still on it — and he knew what to do.

"Let me take a look at that hand," he said. "It looks painful."

Antonio flinched and looked at his hand in surprise, as if he were only then remembering that he had injured it. "Eh," he mumbled, and for a moment Lovino feared he was going to refuse him. But then he nodded almost imperceptibly. "Okay."

~{x}~{§}~{x}~

"Move the light a little closer," Lovino asked.

They were in Antonio's cabin, sat side by side on the bed, and Lovino was thoroughly removing every single piece of glass from Antonio's injured hand. In the other, the captain held an oil lamp, which he obediently moved closer, spilling light not only over the hand, but also over Lovino's face. His hair, free and growing longer every day, had been casting shadows on him, and Antonio surprised himself by taking a close look at his features.

He took in the way his amber eyes reflected the fire, giving him a mystical look; the way he frowned in concentration when a small shard was being particularly difficult to grab; the way he smiled, pleased, when he finally removed it.

And he had freckles. Not too many, and they were faint, but they were there, on his nose and cheeks. Antonio hadn't noticed them before, and idly wondered if the summer sun would bring out more.

"I don't get it," Lovino said then.

"What?"

"Why you want to kill your father. I mean—"

"Don't call him that," Antonio interrupted. "Please."

Lovino spared him a glance. "Call him what? _Your father_?" And when Antonio nodded: "Okay… So if I want to talk about him, what, I say Santiago?"

"Just say _him_. I'll know who you're talking about."

"Okay. Well, I don't get why you want to kill _him_." He pulled out what seemed to be the last shard and started washing the cuts. "Based on what you told me, it seems you were far more tormented by others."

Antonio fell silent.

"You haven't told me everything."

 _Far too clever for your own good_ , he thought. "No," he said.

In truth, he had already said too much.

Lovino sighed. "Alright, then. Keep your secrets." He skilfully wrapped a bandage around Antonio's hand, and looked him in the eye when he added:

"But stop taking it out on me."

* * *

 _AN: Whew, what a chapter! It was a bit tough to write, but I'm quite happy with the result n_n Hope you liked it!_

 _We finally know who Santiago is! (Shout-out to PotatoPasta, who somehow guessed it in Chapter 1 ._.) Of course, there are still some things about Antonio's past in the dark, because I'm evil and won't give you all the info at once :) But please feel free to theorize — I love it when you do that! n_n_

 _Also: long-haired Lovino. Just... think about it._

 _And... Well, I hope all of you who were desperate for some Spamano in this story are a bit happier. Granted, they're far from being in love, but now they get along... -ish. :P_

 _Thanks for reading! Review? ;)_


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